


take the stage and deliver

by oldpapertowns



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alternate Universe - Dance, Alternate Universe - No Band, Emotional Constipation, Happy Ending, I lied sorry, M/M, Pining, Slow Burn, Third Person POV, enemies to friends to enemies to friends to enemies to lovers, man these guys sure know how to pick their bfs, this will not be finished
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:21:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24502297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oldpapertowns/pseuds/oldpapertowns
Summary: Brendon tilted his head at Ryan, brown eyes mischievous. “You’re the kid who came in late, right? What do you say about practicing that variation we just learned?”OR, i can’t find any fics with the boys being dancers so i decided to write one. featuring professional-dancer!ryan and actor!brendon, who rocked each other’s worlds in high school, managed to ignore all their issues, split up, found each other again, became friends, ignored all their issues again, then realized they were being stupid. mcr make an appearance as 3 dance teachers + that one guy who’s always around for some reason !currently still in progress but nearly finished!
Relationships: Frank Iero/Gerard Way, Ryan Ross/Brendon Urie
Comments: 6
Kudos: 13





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> « tw for brief homophobic language »
> 
> welcome to this fic! at first it was just this one incredibly brief scene that i thought of, but then i had to bring in backstory and it just kept getting bigger and bigger, and, well. we’re here now. happy reading!
> 
> title from 'mercenary' by panic! at the disco

Ryan was late to class.

He’s usually never late, but he’d been called into his counselor’s office to talk about looking into scholarships for college (“Why don’t you apply for an English scholarship for college, Ryan? Your grades have always been good in English!”), and by the time he had managed to explain that he was going to look into becoming part of a professional dance company, it was already half past three.

At that point, Ryan had run home, praying that his car would work without struggling  _ just this once _ so that he’d get to class on time.

Of course, given his luck, Ryan’s car had taken nearly ten minutes to start, and there was traffic on the way to the studio.

By the time he’d locked his car and rushed into the studio to change into his dance shoes, it was a quarter after four. God fucking damn it.

  
  


Ryan waited impatiently for the music filtering through the door to stop, rolling his shoulders and neck around in a futile attempt to warm up at least slightly.

The music finally stopped, and Ryan opened the door quietly. He winced inwardly when he saw that it was Ray teaching today, because of  _ course _ he had to be late the one day a month when Ray came to the studio to teach.

“Ryan! Glad you could join us!” Ray exclaimed when he looked up from the stereo. “Go ahead and choose a spot on a barre and warm up or follow along; we were just about to start the  _ frappé _ exercise.”

Ryan nodded and headed for his usual spot at the front of the barre (which was also, in his opinion, the best position - it had an unblocked view of the mirror and he could immediately see what’s wrong with his posture), only to stop. There was already somebody at that spot, and he didn’t know who that person was.

Ryan frowned, did a quick 180, and saw a spot on a nearby barre that he made a beeline for.

“Oh!” Ray said, seemingly noticing Ryan’s furrowed eyebrows. “Ryan, this is Brendon. He’s new to the studio! Say hi.”

The new kid, Brendon, smirked and gave Ryan a quick wave. Ryan narrowed his eyes momentarily at Brendon, trying to convey,  _ That’s my spot. Back off, _ with his eyes, and nodded stiffly in response.

Brendon just raised a perfect eyebrow and turned away, and Ryan sighed.

The music started, and Ryan followed the kid in front of him until he got the hang of the exercise.

As class continued, Ryan found his eyes inexplicably drawn to Brendon, no matter what he was doing.

He didn’t really notice what he was doing until he flicked his eyes over to Brendon, only to find him already looking at Ryan.

Brendon looked away after a second, but that brief second caused Ryan to fuck up the exercise.

Scrambling to catch up, Ryan risked another glance at Brendon to see if he was doing the exercise correctly.

Brendon saw him looking and smirked.

Something in Ryan’s stomach flared. He glared back, set his jaw, and decided that Brendon was a stuck-up prick.

Even with that conclusion in mind, though, Ryan couldn’t help but notice the fluidity and ease that Brendon moved with, the natural grace he seemed to have. His jawline, his hair, the muscles in his arms that flexed and stretched easily.

And he couldn’t help but notice that, after class, Brendon wasn’t in the dressing room.

Ryan quietly left the dressing room with his nearly empty water bottle in hand, leaving the laughter and easy chatter of his classmates behind.

Looking around at the seating area, Ryan didn’t see anybody, but then he checked the studios.

Sure enough, Brendon was in the smaller of the two studios, standing in front of the mirror and frowning at his arms, which were in second position.

“Raise your elbows more,” Ryan called out.

Brendon did, and his frown lessened. “Huh.” He tilted his head at Ryan, eyes mischievous. “You’re the kid who came in late, right? What do you say about practicing that variation we just learned?”

Ryan’s brain said no, told him that he still had a load of homework to do and that he should stay as far away from Brendon as possible. But his heart and gut screamed at him to agree, and did he really want to go back to that house full of demons and the persistent smell of alcohol?

In the end, Ryan relented.

The two of them ran through the variation so many times that Ryan lost track of how many times he’d danced it. (He did, however, remember an interaction the two of them had, when they’d been working on a specific part of the variation.

“Christ, Ross,” Brendon had huffed. “How are all of your transitions so damn boring?”

“My life is boring,” Ryan had snarled back, though the ferocity of his response had been muted by his panting.

“Then make it interesting,” Brendon had muttered, scowling as he poked at the stereo. Music flooded the studio again. Ryan had rolled his eyes at Brendon’s response, but he made sure to pay extra attention to his transitions.

Just to spite Brendon, of course.)

Knocking on the door jarred Ryan out of what he called (somewhat ironically) his dance headspace.

Looking towards the door, Ryan saw Mikey leaning against the doorframe, lips quirked up.

“I hate to interrupt this, but it’s eight. If I let you two stay any longer, I might get flayed alive by some anxious parents.”

Ryan checked the clock disbelievingly. Two hours couldn’t have passed already, cou-

Oh.

“Shit.” Brendon completed Ryan’s train of thought.

“Fuck,” Ryan realized. “I have homework.”

“My parents are gonna be pissed,” Brendon groaned. He looked up at Mikey. “D’you think they’ll be okay with it if I tell them I was practicing?”

Mikey shrugged.

“They’re  _ your _ parents, Brendon,” Ryan said, dragging out Brendon’s name in an attempt to annoy him.

It seemed to work at least slightly, because Brendon rolled his eyes in response. “What, do your parents not care if you don’t go home?”

That hit a bit too close to home. Mikey, knowing Ryan’s home situation (a mother that disappeared years ago, along with a little bit of money led to a father who was always drunk and oblivious to what Ryan did. On top of that, there was the problem of Ryan never being able to go on field trips or competitions because of the fees), stiffened almost imperceptibly, but Ryan kept his face carefully blank. Brendon didn’t know. Of course he didn’t; this was his first day at the studio, and it wasn’t really like Ryan’s home “issues” were spoken too freely about.

Mikey backed down, though Ryan could see that he was still wary. (Ryan could pick up on nearly all of Mikey’s body language at this point; waiting for his dad to pick him up for hours on end when he was in middle school had eventually led to Mikey sitting with Ryan for company.

As time went on, Ryan started seeing Mikey as something like a big brother, and learned more about Mikey. [Like the fact that he used to dance professionally until his brother, Gerard, started struggling with alcoholism. Mikey had come back then, teaching at various studios to help Gerard with his debts and rent while Gerard got himself clean, and when Gerard had gotten sober permanently, they’d founded the studio, Way of Dance, together.]

But then Ryan had gotten a driver’s license and a shitty excuse of a car, and the conversations on the blue bench outside of the studio had stopped.)

“My dad knows that I basically live here,” Ryan said in a flat voice.

“Oh,” Brendon said, annoyance gone. “Sorry,” he added after a moment.

Ryan shrugged, wondering what Brendon was apologizing for. “How long do you think you can stay tomorrow?” He asked, abruptly changing the topic.

“Two hours works for me,” was Brendon’s immediate response, his tone light.

Mikey snorted. “No, it isn’t. I remember the homework load. Damn near drowned in it.”

Brendon laughed, a short, clear, sound. “You got me. So, an hour?”

“Hour and a half,” Ryan returned, trying not to get caught up in the fact that Brendon was so charming that he had Mikey cracking jokes after knowing him for a single day.

Brendon raised an eyebrow. “You sure?”

Ryan nodded once, and Brendon shrugged.

“Okay.” He smiled crookedly at Ryan. “See you tomorrow, then?”

“Tomorrow,” Ryan confirmed.

Brendon saluted Ryan cheekily and left.

The thing that had flared in Ryan’s stomach earlier was now burning low and steady.

Ryan decided that it was because of stress.

  
  


When Ryan got home, his dad was slumped in the armchair in front of the TV, head lolling and a bottle of whiskey held loosely in his hand.

Ryan tried to walk behind the chair quietly and get to the hallway, but the moment he set foot in the living room, his dad’s head rose. Heart sinking, he stopped and straightened up, facing his dad with all the enthusiasm of a wilted rose.

“Where were you, boy?” George Ross slurred, raising his head a bit.

“At dance practice,” Ryan said, his voice as flat as possible.

George sneered. “You’re still doing that? Dance is for sissies and fairies. Not to mention a waste of my goddamn money.”

_ Money that you’re blowing on alcohol and gambling, _ Ryan thought darkly, though he kept his face blank in a practiced way, kept quiet.

Ryan’s dad glared at the lack of response. Then he leered, slow and ugly. Ryan’s internal alarms started blaring; that was the look George often got when he got an idea that would make Ryan more miserable than normal.

“I’ve decided,” George said, still leering. “That you’re not taking any fucking dance classes next year. It’s a waste of money, and I don’t want that kind of shit staining my reputation.”

Ryan’s eyes widened, despite him trying to keep his face as blank as possible. But he couldn’t help it. No. No, no, no. What the  _ fuck? _ Dance was the one thing that gave Ryan a sense of purpose and a will to live. If that fucking got taken away-

Ryan needed a scholarship to a professional dance company. And to do that, he needed a solo. That would’ve been easy if not for Brendon. Perfect fucking Brendon. Shit. Only one of them would get the solo and the chance to be seen by people who would be looking for additions to their dance companies. Fuck.

Ryan’s despair must have been incredibly obvious, because his pathetic, drunk excuse of a father slumped back into his chair, unsteadily taking a slug of the whiskey while still maintaining an air of smugness. “Get out of my sight, fag.”

Ryan grit his teeth, clenched his duffel bag tighter, and stalked across the living room, towards the hallway and his room.

He only let the tears fall fast and silent when he had shut his door firmly,

Why this year, of all years? This was the one year where Ryan actually wasn’t sure that he would get the solo, the one year where there was a fucking newcomer to the studio.

The one year where he actually felt that  _ pull _ towards another person.

Fuck this. Fuck his life, fuck his dad, fuck Brendon, fuck everything.

Ryan fell asleep at 3 AM, tears drying on his face.

~!~

The next day after class, Brendon and Ryan slipped into the small studio without saying anything to each other.

“Are we running through the variation again today?” Ryan asked.

Brendon shrugged. “I guess. Unless you have other ideas?” He looked at Ryan.

Ryan looked at Brendon coolly. “I was thinking we could do some conditioning and technique today.”

“I’ve heard that conditioning with you is brutal,” Brendon said, eyeing Ryan suspiciously. Ryan didn’t ask how he knew that after two days at the studio.

Ryan shrugged in what he hoped was a detached way. “Depends on who you ask.”

Brendon’s mouth curved into a sharp smile, one that said that he was challenging Ryan. “Let’s get into it, then.”

45 minutes later, Brendon was panting hard.

“How- do you manage- to do this?” He asked between puffs.

Ryan shrugged as best as he could in his position, meeting Brendon’s eyes in the mirror as they both sat up, arms over their chests. He waited until they were coming back up again before saying, “I don’t have anything else to do.”

“Homework?” Brendon asked in a ‘duh’ voice.

“I finish it during lunch,” Ryan muttered, letting his back hit the ground harder than he normally would.

“Too good for your friends, Ross?” Brendon sneered half-heartedly.

“I don’t have much time for friends with all these classes,” Ryan bit back, his back hitting the ground with an audible  _ whump. _ The air in his lungs whooshed out and he saw black spots for a moment, but he pushed through, ignoring his body and its wants, like he so often did.

Because there’s no time to rest in the professional world of dance. If you get an injury that takes time to heal, you’re fucked; you could miss out on a season. If you get an injury that only takes a few days or weeks to heal, you’re still fucked; your muscles will grow weak.

Letting yourself want something is a surefire way to get hurt.

Ryan gritted his teeth and repeated that mantra as he struggled to tamp down his want for Brendon, who had gone all but silent next to him, breathing steady.

Letting yourself want something is a surefire way to get hurt.

Letting yourself want something is a surefire way to get hurt.

Letting yourself want something is a surefire way to get hurt.

~!~

These… rehearsals, if Ryan could call them that, became a daily occurrence, and something that Ryan looked forward to, for some godforsaken reason.

One day, Frank came to the studio with Gerard and offered tips on musicality and things that neither Ryan nor Brendon had really thought about, lounging on the small cabinet by the door.

“I mean, it’s good,” Frank said, waving a tattooed hand around. “But like, I have no idea what the fuck the story is, and the way you guys are dancing it isn’t helping either. It’s all, like, disjointed or something. Also, Brendon, that pose with your leg behind you? It looks twisted and a bit… off.”

Brendon stepped into an arabesque, looked in the mirror, and rolled his eyes. “My arm’s up too high.” He stepped out and shot a grin at Frank. “Thanks for noticing, man.”

“Your chin also needs to be higher,” Ryan pointed out. “You’re looking at the ground.”

Brendon frowned, stepped into arabesque again. “Huh. I guess I am.” He lowered his arm and raised his chin, then flicked his eyes towards the mirror. He broke into a grin that made Ryan’s stomach do incredibly dangerous things. Maybe Ryan had eaten something weird for lunch.

Frank nodded. “That looks way better, dude.”

Brendon had looked to Ryan then, the grin still on his face. With a jolt, Ryan realized that his opinion was wanted.

“Looks good,” Ryan had said, voice softer than intended. He cleared his throat, crossed his arms, tilted his chin defiantly. “Could work on getting that back leg higher, though.”

Brendon’s grin got wider, and he saluted Ryan lazily. “Aye-aye, cap’n.”

Ryan fought down the blush that was starting to make its way up his face, looking away from Brendon’s face in favor of looking at the ground.

“Well!” Frank said, beaming as he hopped to the ground. “I gotta go. Love ya guys, see you later. Try not to permanently injure each other.”

He was out the door before Ryan or Brendon could respond, but Ryan swore that Frank had the look of a cat who’d just gotten the canary.

~!~

As the week went on, the two got increasingly comfortable with each other and would consider each other as friends, but Ryan knew this weird peace wouldn’t last. Especially since only one of them could get the solo that was always offered to somebody in each grade. He would, on occasion, see Gerard or Mikey studying one or both of them, thoughtful looks on their faces, and those occasions just made his chest tighten.

Brendon was the one who brought up the observation, plopping down next to Ryan during one of their breaks between classes. “Have you noticed Gerard and Mikey scrutinizing us?”

“Scrutinizing?” Ryan asked, not looking up from his homework. “Big word for you.”

“ _ That’s _ what you decide to focus on?” Brendon snorted. “Of course it is. But seriously, have you noticed it?”

Ryan could see Brendon’s knee bouncing out of the corner of his eye, and Ryan was reminded of the pure  _ energy _ that Brendon was, earnestness and ambition and liveliness.

Ryan shrugged. “I wouldn’t say scrutinizing. More observing.”

Brendon’s knee didn’t stop bouncing. “Same  _ thing, _ Ryan. Point is, why are they doing that?”

Ryan looked up at that, frowning. “You don’t know?”

Brendon tilted his head. “Know what?”

“They’re seeing if they want to send us to YAGP,” Ryan said bluntly.

Brendon’s knee stopped bouncing. “YAGP?” He repeated slowly, sounding each letter out.

“Yes, YAGP,” Ryan said impatiently. “You know, Youth America Grand Prix, also known as one of the biggest supporting organizations of dance?”

“No,” Brendon said, still speaking slowly. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t-  _ what?” _ Ryan asked in disbelief.

Brendon shrugged, like he didn’t know how much Ryan’s future depended on that organization. Well, he didn’t, but-

“I don’t know,” Brendon repeated. “What YAGP is.”

Ryan shook his head and put away his homework, calculus be damned. “You don’t know what YAGP is.”

“We have established that,” Brendon snapped, sounding a bit annoyed at this point. Which was understandable, but- he didn’t know about YAGP.

“Want me to explain?” Ryan offered.

“That would be nice,” Brendon said. His arms were crossed over his chest, and he was straddling the bench in a way that had him facing Ryan, knee bouncing again. “Is it, like, a competition?”

“Well,” Ryan started slowly. “Strictly speaking, YAGP is a competition. But it also helps dancers get scholarships and opportunities to go to big dance companies, helps them be seen by audiences and scouts.”

“Scouts? Like the people who look for… talent?” Brendon looked dubious.

“Yeah, basically.” Ryan nodded. “Dance companies send people to look for dancers who they think would be a good addition to the company.”

“Huh,” Brendon said thoughtfully. “Do any dancers get multiple offers?”

“Probably,” Ryan said, crossing his legs to sit criss-cross on the bench. “Along with the scouts being there, YAGP also offers scholarships to a few people who audition.”

“That’s sorta cool, actually,” Brendon said softly, a small smile on his face. “It, like, gives people the chance to go somewhere, make it big.” He looked at Ryan then, the smile still on his face. “Isn’t it?”

Ryan hummed. “I guess it is. The competition’s fierce, though,” He said with a sigh. “The best dancers from each studio usually go and compete, and there are a  _ lot _ of studios.”

“You’re good, though,” Brendon mused, eyes on Ryan. “Bet you’d win and go off to some company.”

“The same could go for you,” Ryan retorted, trying not to linger on the fact that Brendon thought he was good.

Brendon shrugged. “I don’t have all the training you do, though. I’m pretty new to all of this.”

“Why?” Ryan asked, looking at Brendon out of the side of his eye.

Brendon made a face and looked down at the bench, tracing the patterns in the wood with a finger. “It was originally just a way for me to get the training I might need for musical theater, but. Well.” He looked up, eyes meeting Ryan’s with a small but genuine smile on his face. “I actually really like it. It’s something that lets me get my energy out, and it holds my attention. Not a lot of things do that.”

Ryan nodded, not knowing what to say. Brendon’s words and smile cemented a place in his head, sticking for some reason.

Brendon’s “You did this question wrong,” directed Ryan’s attention towards him again.

Ryan frowned at Brendon for looking at his homework, then frowned at the problem as if it had personally wronged him. “Did I?”

Brendon nodded and moved to sit next to Ryan so they both could see, sitting dangerously close to Ryan, his shoulder bumping Ryan’s spine.

As they worked through the problem, Brendon gave no indication that he noticed their closeness, but, thought Ryan, he didn’t move away either.

~!~

Mikey and Gerard cornered Brendon and Ryan a few days later when they were coming out of the studio.

“Hey guys!” Gerard said, smiling. “Do you have a moment?”

Ryan had a split second to wonder if he’d done something wrong - maybe he and Brendon shouldn’t even be in the studio? - before Gerard added hastily,

“Nothing bad, I promise!”

“I’ve got time,” Brendon said easily.

Gerard looked relieved.

“Ryan?” Mikey asked.

Gerard looked slightly less relieved.

Ryan shrugged. “I’ve got plenty of time. Don’t worry.”

“Great!” Gerard grinned.

“Before you ask, this is about the solo,” Mikey said.

_ Oh no. _ Ryan felt his heart sink as he realized that this would be when he and Brendon learned who got the solo.  _ Like a fucking reality TV show, _ he thought as Mikey started talking.

“You both are showing extreme potential,” Mikey said. “You’re incredibly talented, and you’re also dedicated as hell to dance.”

“A lot of people are talented,” Gerard added on. “But not many people have the drive it takes to make that talent into something really special.”

“You two have that drive, that motivation,” Mikey nodded. “That’s why you both are getting solos.”

Brendon blinked, looking bewildered. “So we’re…  _ both _ going to a competition? YAGP?”

“Yep!” Gerard grinned. “Looking forward to it?”

“Well, yes, but...” Ryan said, trailing off. His unsaid  _ I can’t afford it _ is hanging in the air.

Gerard seemed to understand what he’s saying. “You don’t need to worry about it, Ryan. We’ve got you.”

A heavy weight lifted from Ryan’s shoulders, and he smiled a small, bright smile. He gets a solo. He gets to go to fucking  _ YAGP. _ One step closer to getting away from his dad and this tiny fucking place, one step closer to getting a career that he actually wants. “Really? I get a solo?”

“You get a solo,” Gerard affirmed with a nod.

“If you guys want, we could probably just change the hour and a half you guys use for practicing into coaching time,” Mikey said, thoughtful. “It’d be for free.”

Ryan opened his mouth to protest, but Mikey shook his head, knowing what Ryan was going to say. “Don’t even start, Ryan,” he said firmly. “I’m the owner, I can do what I want.”

Ryan closed his mouth, pursed his lips. “Okay,” he said finally, because really, what else could he say?

Mikey smiled. “Good. Rehearsals start tomorrow.”

“Do we get to know our variations?” Brendon asked hopefully.

Gerard let out a half-snort, half-giggle. “Good try, kid. Nope. You have to wait.”

Despite Brendon’s pout, Ryan felt lighter than he had in a long time when he left the building, and he found that he didn’t exactly despise the idea of waking up the next day.  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you wanted to know, this (https://www.pinterest.com/pin/2955555986998909/) is an arabesque


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a blossoming relationship! how exciting! things are looking up, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooh, variations! ballet terminology crash course: a variation is basically a solo dance routine that comes from a ballet (like don quixote, or in this case, flames of paris and le corsaire). a lot of the time, dancers and/or their teachers put a lil ~twist~ on the variations to make them more intriguing (or something). if you wanna watch a few, you can either search them up, or use these links:  
> ryan’s variation - https://youtu.be/fvFXm557yFM  
> brendon’s variation - https://youtu.be/PIb3RnBlGZs
> 
> also, it’s sorta unrealistic to have brendon be going to yagp after only one year of classical ballet training, but shhh it’s fine

Ryan whirled around in front of the door to the studio when he heard his name being called.

“Ryan! Hold the door?” Brendon called, picking his way across the parking lot.

Ryan stopped, waiting for Brendon to pass by him, but Brendon paused in front of him instead.

“Where’d you get that?” he asked, nodding down at Ryan’s lunch.

Ryan shrugged. “Some random store uptown. Why?”

Brendon stared at him with a calculating look on his face. “You can go off campus?”

Ryan blinked. “Campus?”

Brendon winced. “You know what I mean.”

“Were you thinking that we weren’t allowed to drive places while we don’t have classes?”

Brendon looked thoughtful and started chewing his lower lip. “You know,” he said as Ryan snapped his eyes back up to his eyes. “I’ve never really thought about it.”

Huh. Ryan followed Brendon into the dressing room, about to put his lunch away when Brendon spoke up again.

“Do you want to go get lunch one day?”

When Ryan turned around, Brendon was on the ground next to his bag, fiddling with a keychain. He met Ryan’s gaze with a small smile. “You can show me around uptown.”

Ryan had caved the second he’d seen that smile. He nodded.

Brendon’s smile grew. “Is tomorrow after your jazz class okay?”

“Sure,” Ryan said, only half aware of what he was agreeing to, still caught up over Brendon’s smile.

Brendon was beaming at this point. “Great!” he practically chirped. He jumped to his feet and hugged Ryan briefly before moving outside the dressing room to the waiting area. He greeted Frank, who was lounging on a bench in front of a studio, before turning back to Ryan. “Tomorrow it is, then.”

Ryan barely had a second before he was being dragged into a conversation about spiders, which made Frank, who had apparently overheard, to shudder visibly, and Brendon to laugh, joyful as always.

  
  


After class, Ryan and Brendon were pulled aside by Gerard, who handed both of them a slip of paper.

“They have your variations on them,” he said with a smile, waving a hand around. “Mikes, Ray, Frank, and I all tried to give you both variations that would suit you and be challenging at the same time. Feel free to go home and search up the variations; we’ll start on the choreography tomorrow.”

He sent the two of them off with a grin before ushering in his next class, greeting his students.

“What’d you get?” Brendon asked as soon as the two of them reached the dressing room.

Ryan glanced down at his paper. “Le Corsaire, Ali variation. You?”

“Flames of Paris, variation of Philippe,” Brendon read out loud, scrunching up his nose. “Never heard of it.”

“I think it has something to do with France,” Ryan said.

Brendon snorted, breaking into a grin as he shook his head. “Really? I couldn’t tell.”

Ryan smiled, then shouldered his bag. “Well, I’m off to go learn as much of the choreography as I can tomorrow. I’ll see you,” he said as he moved towards the door.

“Bye, Ry!” Brendon called after him.

Once in the cool night air, Ryan couldn’t help but let his lips curl up a bit as he looked at the night sky, chest thrumming. From what, he wasn’t quite sure, but he knew that he’d be looking forward to tomorrow.

It was only until later, at a stoplight when driving home, that Ryan realized that he might’ve agreed to a date tomorrow. Would going out for lunch with Brendon count?

_ Yes, _ his mind said.

Huh.

Shit.

~!~

The next day, during the hour-long break between classes, Ryan munched on his sandwich and asked, “What’s the deal with your family?”

Brendon looked up from his salad sharply and looked at Ryan warily. “Why do you want to know?”

Ryan shrugged and took another bite of sandwich. “You never talk about them. Never even a passing comment about family. Ever.”

Brendon studied Ryan. “Been paying attention, Ross?”

Ryan didn’t take the bait, and Brendon crunched on a crouton, chewing and swallowing before talking again.

“Tell you what,” he said. “I’ll tell about my home life if you tell me about yours.”

Ryan only hesitated for a second, debating, before he gestured at Brendon. “You first.”

Brendon sighed and looked distinctly uncomfortable, playing with his fork before starting to speak. “It’s not really what’s up with my  _ family, _ really. It’s mostly my parents and how their views differ from mine.” He speared a piece of cucumber with all the excitement and energy of a drenched sloth. “My family’s Mormon, and my parents have my entire future planned out, and it’s just- it’s so unappealing. I don’t want to go study  _ law _ , of all things, and I sure as hell don’t want to become a lawyer. I’ve always loved music, dance, just the arts in general, I guess. And, well.” He broke off, studying the piece of cucumber. “Even a life living in the gutters in New York studying the arts seems more appealing than going to some fancy fucking law school.”

Ryan couldn’t really relate, but he hummed to show that he’d been listening. And he had - he wanted to know more about Brendon.

Brendon, who had shoved the piece of cucumber into his mouth, started speaking again. “I told them that I didn’t think me going to law school would work out that well and that I wanted to study the arts, but, well, it’s not looking too good. My dad called me an attention seeker, said that I just wanted to be different from my siblings.” He sighed. “I’m not really sure how college and life beyond college is going to work out, but, well, I guess something will work out.”

He trailed off, then seemed to come back to himself, forcing out a laugh. “Shit, that was a downer. What about you, Ry?”

Ryan put his sandwich down, centering himself. “My story isn’t going to make the mood lighter.” He leaned back against the wall, focusing on a spot on the wall opposite him. “I never really knew my mom. She walked out when I was small, and I don’t remember anything about her apart from the effect she had on my dad.” He huffed out a laugh. “It’s a bit pathetic, really, that all I remember about her is how my dad acted around her, but it’s an easy thing to remember. He never really drank around her. He was happier, didn’t ignore me as much, didn’t drown his sorrows in alcohol too much. When she left, though, he started drinking more and more. At first it was just shots, but he went to drinking out of the bottle soon enough. I think he blamed himself for her leaving in a way."

Ryan paused to look over at Brendon, expecting to see him focused on his salad. Instead, Brendon was looking at Ryan, paying full attention to him. Ryan lost his train of thought for a moment, then dropped his gaze, drawing his legs up to his chest.

“Usually,” he said to get himself back on track, looking back up at the wall. “Usually, he’s just neglectful. He drinks and leaves me alone. But sometimes when I catch him in a shitty mood, he threatens to keep me from coming to dance. Just for a day or two. He’s never liked the fact that I dance. But he never follows through, and I can always tell he’s not being serious and just needs to get it out of his system.” He sighed and stared at his hands. "Still scary though, the fact that he has that much power over me just because we're related by blood."

“Oh,” Brendon breathed, expression troubled. “I never knew. I’m sorry, Ry.”

Ryan just shrugged, ignoring the thrill he got from Brendon calling him 'Ry.' “It’s just the way things are. Besides, if I ever get into a good company, I won’t have to see the old man again.”

“Won’t you ever regret it?” Brendon asked.

Ryan tilted his head. “What?”

Brendon just frowned at his salad. “Won’t you regret not trying to patch up your relationship in the future?”

Ryan sighed. “I’ve asked myself that question, and I honestly don’t know. Sure, he’s my dad, but…” he trailed off. “That’s all that keeps us together at this point. He’s never acted like a father. He was never around, and he only barely managed to keep us afloat financially. I know I should feel something for him, but I really don’t.” Ryan sighed again and picked his sandwich back up, taking a bite while he waited for Brendon to speak.

“I guess I can see where you’re coming from,” said Brendon. Ryan didn’t bother to look up at him, not wanting to see the expression on his face. “And I can sort of relate, but not to that extent." Ryan heard Brendon shift, his shape moving in the corner of his eye. "See, my parents are good parents, they really are. But they just suck when it comes to their children thinking differently than them. They want the best for us, but sometimes I think what they say is best will be the thing that’ll make me the unhappiest person out there. And I don’t know how to get that message across to them.” Brendon snorted. “I’ve dropped hints, but never told them outright. I’m not looking forward to how they’ll react to that.” He straightened his legs and looked up at the ceiling. “There’s the whole religion and sexuality thing, too.”

Ryan looked up at that. “Religion and sexuality thing?”

Brendon nodded. “I don’t think I believe in God anymore. Or any god, really. I think I did when I was younger, but then I started asking questions about why he would ask us to hate specific people but love our neighbors. Also, I’m pretty sure I’m not straight,” he said casually.

“Oh,” said Ryan, sounding weird to his own ears. He didn’t know what else to say, with his gut doing something weird with this new discovery. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Brendon said, defensive. “You got a problem?”

“No.” Ryan shook his head slowly. “No problem with that.”

“Good,” Brendon said. “Because you having a problem would mean I’d have to beat you up or stop being friends with you at the very least, and I don’t want to do that.” He grinned at Ryan. “You’re a pretty nice person. I like your personality a lot.”

Ryan smiled back, his gut still doing something weird. It felt okay, though; he could get used to it. “I don’t want you to do that either.” He frowned at Brendon’s salad then. “Now finish your lunch, or you’ll regret it later today. Your body needs fuel.”

Brendon laughed, and the thundercloud that had been hanging over Ryan’s head since he’d talked about his dad dissipated in seconds. “Yes, mom.”

Brendon dug into his salad, and as Ryan finished his sandwich, he was stuck with the sudden realization that Brendon knew more about him than anybody else ever had.

Ryan supposed that thought should’ve made him flinch, but he found that he was surprisingly okay with it. He could live with Brendon being the first to know what his family was like.

Yeah. He’d be okay.

~!~

“Brendon?” Ryan asked an hour and a half later, frowning down at his homework from where he was laid out belly down on the floor. “Can you make sense of this?”

“What subject is it?” asked Brendon, who was doing a handstand against a wall.

Ryan scowled. “History,” he grumbled, not even wanting to say the name.

Brendon brightened. “Sure, I can try.” He kicked off the wall and slid in next to Ryan a beat later, their shoulders touching. “Which question?”

Run pointed it out, and Brendon immediately launched into an explanation that was surprisingly easy to follow.

With Brendon’s help, Ryan was able to finish his homework in no time.

“And you’re done!” cheered Brendon when Ryan finished writing the last answer. “Good work.”

“You’re pretty good at this,” Ryan said, turning his head to look at Brendon.

“You’re not so bad yourself, Ry. You’re really smart,” responded Brendon, turning his head as well.

“Thanks,” said Ryan, softer now that they were so close to each other. He didn’t think he was imagining Brendon’s eyes flicking down to his lips and the tension surrounding the two of them, but he didn’t move, scared of what would happen if he made the first move.

Ryan didn’t have to make the first move, though, because Brendon was the one who leaned in and pressed their lips together. Ryan let his eyes fall shut, let Brendon kiss him, and kissed back until they ran out of breath and drew back.

They stared at each other for a while, fingers tangled together. Brendon spoke first.

“Should we keep this on the down low? I mean, I-“

“Yeah,” Ryan interrupted, scrambling to sit up. He let go of Brendon’s hand, heart beating too fast all of a sudden. “Yeah, that’s a good idea.”

“Okay,” said Brendon, sitting up as well. “I can do that.” The smile he sent Ryan was a bit shaky and unsure, but Ryan was too caught up in the feelings of shame and something that felt like embarrassment wrapped up in a giddy kind of elation to think too much of it.

“Okay,” he repeated, taking a breath and flashing Brendon a hopeful smile.

Okay. Okay.

He could do this.

They could do this.

~!~

They went out to get lunch the next day, and when they were in line, Brendon slipped his hand into Ryan’s.

_ Okay? _ he mouthed with a questioning look at Ryan.

Ryan nodded, a wide smile on his face, and Brendon grinned and squeezed Ryan’s hand.

They continued holding hands, even while ordering and waiting for their food, and Ryan couldn’t stop smiling through all of it.

That smile, though, slipped off his face when he turned around after getting his food to see Gerard standing there, eyes wide and flicking between Brendon and Ryan.

Ryan immediately dropped Brendon’s hand, flinching back into himself and preparing for the disgust that was sure to be launched his way.

He opened his mouth, ready to speak, but Brendon interrupted, moving in front of Ryan, the line of his shoulders tense. “You have a problem?” He sounded like he had yesterday when he'd told Ryan about his sexuality, but somehow more... protective.

Gerard’s expression turned into one of horror, and he shook his head quickly. “No, no, no! I’m alright with you guys, I was just surprised.”

Ryan started edging towards the door, but Gerard spoke again. “Really, I’m okay with it! I wanna show you guys something, actually. Can you wait until I get my food?

Ryan was hesitant, but Brendon had already agreed and before he knew it, he was sitting at a table, stomach churning uneasily. He wanted to take Brendon’s hand, have a bit of safety, but he didn’t dare with Gerard right there, even though his back was to them and he said he was okay with them. Whatever Ryan and Brendon were.

Brendon seemed to read his mind, and reached over to pull Ryan’s hand into his lap, the warmth of his hands steadying Ryan.

The anxiety came back full force when Gerard turned to them holding his food with a small smile, and Ryan snatched his hand back, heart beating loudly. If Gerard noticed, he didn’t let on.

“Ready to go?” he asked. Ryan and Brendon nodded, and they were on the way back to the studio.

All the way there, Ryan couldn’t stop the sense of dread coiled heavy in his stomach or stop his hands from sweating, and he didn’t let himself reach out to Brendon, afraid that someone might yell at him from across the street.

His frenzied train of thought stopped when they got to the studio and found Frank waiting there.

“Hey,” he greeted with a grin.

“Hi,” Gerard returned almost shyly as he walked up to Frank and planted a kiss on his cheek. Frank looked surprised for a second before he smiled and laced his fingers with Gerard’s, and- oh.

Oh.

Ryan felt like an idiot. He flushed when he realized that he’d said that out loud, but Brendon had agreed with him.

“Since when?” he asked. “And how did nobody ever notice?”

Frank shrugged. “We’ve been going steady for about four years now.”

It hit Ryan suddenly that other people could be in same sex relationships, and that his emotions -- for Brendon, no less -- were normal. Maybe not accepted yet, but there were other people who felt similar things to him. What he was feeling wasn’t unnatural.

Gerard’s voice interrupted his revelation, and when Ryan looked up, Gerard was nodding. “And we’ve been really careful. We’ve still had a few close calls, but we’ve been lucky so far.”

Brendon still seemed ready to launch more questions, and Gerard seemed to notice, because he held up his food and said, “Let’s eat and talk.”

A few minutes later, the four of them were situated in what seemed to be a supply closet.

The irony was not lost on Ryan.

Frank too, it seemed, because he huffed, an exasperated smile playing at the corners of his lips, “A closet? Really?”

Gerard just shrugged, a fond smile playing over his features. “Sorry, Frankie. It’s the only place that’s even remotely private, and I figured we’d want some privacy.”

Frank raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Gerard flushed and shook his head, laughing. “Not in that way! I just think-”

“I know, Gee,” Frank said with a laugh. He turned his attention to Brendon and Ryan, a smile still on his face. “So you two, huh?”

Brendon met his gaze steadily, chin tilted up slightly. “Maybe.”

Ryan flicked his eyes up from where he’d been studying the ground but flicked them back down soon after, curled into a ball.

“It’s fine if you are, you know,” Frank said, leaning into Gerard’s side. “Whether you’re dating or fucking or both or if it’s something you don’t wanna name yet.”

“Also, nothing leaves this room,” Gerard added, taking Frank’s hand into his own. “Whatever you say and do is confidential.”

Frank nodded. “Whatever happens in the closet stays in the closet.”

Ryan relaxed a bit, scooting closer to Brendon, close enough that their shoulders were touching.

Brendon leaned into Ryan for a second, brief pressure on his shoulder. “So basically, this is some kind of therapy session.”

“If you want it to be,” Frank agreed with a shrug. “It can also just be us talking, and you’re free to leave if you want.”

Brendon nodded, then asked after a brief pause, “Why did you two keep it secret?”

Frank gave Brendon a wry smile, eyes distant. “We didn’t want any homophobes making a big deal out of it and, like, boycotting the studio or some shit.”

“Oh,” Brendon said in a tone that suggested he hadn’t thought of it before. “That makes sense.”

Frank sighed and nodded, ducking under Gerard’s arm to drape it over his shoulders. “It’s shitty that we live in a world where we have to do this, but... oh well, I guess.”

“Not much we can do,” Gerard said softly, pressing a kiss to Frank’s temple.

“We just have to fight for a better world,” Ryan said, barely loud enough for himself to hear.

Brendon somehow heard, though, and he turned his head to give Ryan the sweetest smile he’d ever seen, their shoulders pressing together for another brief moment.

Ryan swallowed his fear and reached out for Brendon’s hand, warm in his own.

Brendon’s smile grew wider and he laced their fingers together, hands between the two of them as they leaned against the wall across from Frank and Gerard, shoulders pressed together.

Sitting there, Ryan realized that he’d be content with Brendon by his side for the next few years, maybe even the rest of his life. He didn’t know what this meant, but it made his heart swell, and Ryan vowed to try to keep Brendon by his side for as long as possible; he didn’t think that anybody he’d meet in the future would ever compare to Brendon.

He just had to hope that Brendon felt the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thechaptersaresoshortimsosorry
> 
> i'll come back when this is finished to redo e v e r y t h i n g i promise


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm taking a summer course, so updates mAy be a bit slow. however, i think most of this is finished!! it's coming together pretty well :)

“Good class,” Gerard said with a smile as he wrapped up Ryan and Brendon’s last class of the day. “Thanks, you guys. You’re all dismissed.”

“Thanks, Gerard,” came the scattered replies as everyone started moving towards the door.

Ryan waved at Gerard, who waved back, grinning as Ryan followed everyone out the door of the studio.

Mikey was waiting right outside, out of the way of everyone else, and he nodded at Ryan once he was out the door.

“Get some water and a five minute break. Then we’re running your variations. Tell Brendon.”

Ryan nodded, wiping sweat off his forehead and brushing hair out of his face in the same move. He held up a fist for Mikey to bump, and Mikey laughed, bumping his fist with Ryan’s and shaking his head.

“Take your break, kid.” His lips were quirked up, though, so Ryan counted it as a win. Mikey ruffled his hair when he passed by, and Ryan had a smile on his face when he moved to the water fountain to refill his water bottle.

“Good class, Ross,” came Brendon’s voice from behind Ryan.

Ryan turned around and smiled briefly at Brendon, mood lightening before turning his attention back to his half full water bottle. “Good class. By the way, Mikey wants us in the small studio in five.”

“Alright,” came Brendon’s response. “Hey, you done with that water fountain yet?”

Ryan rolled his eyes even though Brendon couldn’t see, half fond and half exasperated. “Almost. Christ, Urie, be patient.” His water bottle had filled up to the brim while he was talking, and Ryan moved to the side as Brendon moved forward.

“Finally!” Brendon crowed, aiming an easy grin at Ryan. Ryan snorted, smiling despite himself, when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned around to see his occasional classmate Brent standing there, looking a bit uncertain.

“Ryan! Hey, um, could you help me with the combination we learned today?”

Ryan blinked. He didn’t know Brent that well, despite him being in all of Ryan’s jazz classes for the last two years. Still, he nodded. “Sure. Which one?”

The combination Brent described was one of the simpler ones, and it was easy to point out Brent’s mistakes and fix them.

Brent lit up when he finally got it, and he smiled gratefully at Ryan. “Thanks, man! It makes so much more sense now!”

Ryan half-smiled back awkwardly and shrugged. “It was no problem, really.” He hoped he didn’t sound as awkward as he felt.

Brent ran off with a final ‘thank-you,’ and Ryan looked around for Brendon, who was leaning against the wall, arms crossed and watching Brent through narrowed eyes.

When Ryan walked over to him, Brendon jerked his chin in Brent’s direction. “He was totally trying to make a move on you.”

Ryan stares at Brendon. “...What?” Maybe he’d heard wrong.

Brendon raises an eyebrow at Ryan, arms still crossed. “Dude, it was so obvious. Have you even talked to him before today? Look, he’s staring at you right now.”

Ryan glanced over at Brent, who was staring down at his phone with a red face, seemingly engrossed in it. He frowned. “Was he really?”

Brendon scoffed, shaking his head. “Christ, Ry, you’re so oblivious sometimes.”

Ryan scowled. “Am not,” he muttered, sounding a bit petulant. “Besides, why would you care?”

Brendon’s face seemed to melt into confusion before he grinned, tapping Ryan’s nose. “I don’t. I just wanted to bring up how  _ irresistible _ you are.”

Ryan narrowed his eyes at Brendon, unsure if he was teasing, but decided to let it pass.

“Come on,” he said, tapping Brendon’s nose in retaliation. “Mikey’s waiting for us.”

  
  


Ryan stayed behind with Mikey for a few minutes after he and Brendon were dismissed to go over a few small details in his variation, taking advantage of the one day of the week where Mikey didn’t have to leave halfway through their rehearsal to teach a class.

He walked into the dressing room, empty save for himself and Brendon, who was sitting on the ground and looking at his phone.

“Good class, Urie?” he asked, expecting a response from Brendon.

When Brendon didn't answer, still staring down at his phone, Ryan frowned. “Brendon?” he asked, hovering uncertainly at the door.

When Brendon looked up, he had tears running down his face.

“My parents hate me,” he whispered. “I fucked it up.”

“What- what happened?” Ryan asked, for some reason unable to move from his spot by the door.

Brendon’s face crumpled, and he hid his face in his knees, shoulders starting to shake. “I told my parents about my sexuality and my views on religion before I left the house today.” He stopped for a second to take a breath, breath hitching as he breathed in. “I didn’t see their reactions because I ran and drove here as quick as I could, but they just- my dad just texted me that I can live at home until I’m eighteen, but the second I- I turn eighteen, I ha- have to get out of the house. They said that what I to- told them was the last- the last straw.”

Brendon was sobbing openly now, and Ryan’s still stuck by the door, but he made his feet unstick, moved across the dressing room to Brendon in a few quick steps, and sat down in front of Brendon.

“I don’t know if I can ever face them again,” Brendon said quietly, voice cracking.

“Brendon,” Ryan said, kind of hopeless, because he didn't know what to say, what to do. His hands and arms felt awkward not wrapped around Brendon, but putting them around him would mean putting a label on what they were, and he couldn’t do that, so he just said again, more insistently,  _ “Brendon.” _

Brendon just shook his head and exhaled, and he was smiling, but his shoulders were shaking and tears were falling steadily over his face. He looked heartbroken and devastated and shattered but still so damn  _ beautiful _ that Ryan thought,  _ fuck it, _ and moved closer, arms wrapping around Brendon in a way that felt almost like second nature.

Brendon melted into Ryan, head against his chest and holding on tight like he thought Ryan would let go.

As if Ryan would  _ ever _ let go of the boy in his arms.

He tightened his hold on Brendon, wanting to say something that would make this better. Something that would stop Brendon from sobbing like this, torn up and miserable, but his thoughts didn’t make their way to his tongue, and he and Brendon were stuck in a heavy silence, clinging on to each other.

Brendon pulled away first, eyes red, head down, but shoulders steady. “Sorry,” he said, voice raw, not looking up. “I- Sorry. It’s just- it’s a lot right now.”

And Ryan knew he should say something, assure Brendon that everything would be alright, but only half of his thoughts were in words, and they all managed to feel fake and plastic and clumsy.

So he just nodded, looked away, wrapped his arms around his knees, and offered, “You can, um, stay at my house. For as long as you want or need. My dad, uh. He probably won’t notice. Or care.”

He didn’t look at Brendon, too busy trying to make sense of the emotions sweeping over him, didn’t see Brendon’s face war between want and pride.

“Okay,” Brendon said quietly. “Yeah.”

Ryan nodded, pulled himself to his feet, watched Brendon do the same.

“I’m gonna wash my face real quick,” Brendon said. “You can wait outside if you want.”

So Ryan took his bag and sat in the driver’s seat of his shitty, shitty car, and only then let himself think about what had just happened, let himself analyze every moment, every movement.

He didn’t notice when Brendon came back, only noticed when Brendon asked softly, “Hey, you okay?”

Ryan could only nod, head full of next steps and the fact that Brendon could still ask that question despite being the one who had broken down minutes ago.

Ryan didn’t remember the drive home or setting up a place for Brendon for sleep; he only remembered curling up tight and falling into a dreamless sleep.

~!~

Ryan woke up the next morning and slipped out of the room, seeing Brendon still on the air mattress they had set up. He made a pot of coffee and sat at the kitchen table, facing the entrance and sipping his coffee.

After some time, Brendon came shuffling in, outfitted in basketball shorts and a shirt that’s too loose, showing off his collarbones, and with mussed up hair, smiling softly at Ryan as the light from the window hit him and made him look like a god.  _ A celestial being, _ Ryan thought.  _ Ethereal. _

“Morning, Ry,” Brendon said as he moved over to the coffee pot and poured himself a cup. Taking a sip, he raised an eyebrow at Ryan, and the illusion was shattered. “Were you staring at me just now? Because that’s fucking gay, Ross. Even for you.”

Even for you. Even for him. The words echoed in Ryan’s mind, and he looked down at his coffee, taking a sip as to have an excuse to not respond.

Even for you.

How gay did Brendon think he was? Ryan wasn’t... Ryan wasn’t like Brendon, not like that. He'd never particularly felt attracted to any men. Never sexually, and never romantically, either. Brendon-

Shit. Ryan was becoming everything his father had said he was. ( _ Fucking fairy.)  _ He tried to bring up the image of Frank and Gerard, acting so natural and normal, but he couldn’t bring himself to call it up. ( _ Homo.) _

He couldn’t. He just fucking couldn’t.

“Hey,” Brendon said, and Ryan didn’t look up but listened to his voice, hoping despite the voices in his head that Brendon had seen Ryan’s reaction and had decided to comfort him. but Brendon just continued on, oblivious. “Do you have any spare notebooks? I know it’s Saturday, but I don’t think I’m gonna be able to get mine, with dance and... everything else.” He cleared his throat. “We use the same textbooks, so I shouldn’t have to get any of those from home.”

What the hell is Ryan doing, moping like a heartsick fuck? He pushed away the thoughts of Brendon standing golden in that spot of light, and nodded. “I should. I'll get you some by the end of the day. I can also give you spare dance clothes if you need any.”

“Thanks.”

They sat in silence until Ryan couldn’t take it anymore, and he stood up. “I’m gonna go run a few errands. You can do whatever, I guess.”

He left when he saw Brendon nod from the corner of his eye and cursed himself and his fucking thoughts all the way to the grocery store.

~!~

“Brendon, that was  _ magnificent!” _ Ray enthused a few months later. “How many pirouettes was that? Five? And in passé, too!”

“Six,” Ryan corrected. “Pretty good.”

And it was. Six complete rotations on the ball of your foot, with your leg out to the side and slowing you down? Not something an average person - hell, even an average dancer - would be able to do.

Brendon grinned at Ryan then, wide grin and squinted eye. “Just ‘pretty good,’ Ross?”

_ Christ, _ Ryan thought.  _ He’s beautiful. _

But he pushed that thought down, ignored it, thought of the competition and the scholarship. Thought of getting out of this fucking town.

So he shrugged, raised an eyebrow. “Bet I can do better.”

Brendon’s grin turned into something sharper, colder, glinting like a razor.  _ Something I should stay away from. _ Ryan tucked away the half-formed thought in favor of rolling his shoulders and stepped into position.

Brendon started the music for the exercise and Ryan focused his attention, slipping into the music, moving with it.

He flew across the room, nailed the leap, and finished with a pirouette.

_ One, two, three… _

He felt his heel lowering and forced himself to raise it, keep balancing.

_ Four, five, six… _

One more. One more than Brendon. Ryan was slowing down again, but he straightened his spine, gritted his teeth.

_ Seven. _

He let his heel lower, let out a slow breath as he finished.

When he looked at Brendon, the boy had an unreadable look on his face, but when their eyes met, Brendon smirked.

“Only one more than me, Ross? Step up your game.”

Ryan opened his mouth to retort, but the alarm signaling the end of the rehearsal went off and he darted across the room to turn it off. By the time it stopped shrieking, Brendon was gone, with no trace that he had ever been in the studio. Ryan blinked. Had he done something wrong?

The car ride home was tranquil, the silence seeming more thoughtful than anything. For the last ten minutes, Brendon reached out and laced his fingers with Ryan’s, and a knot in his chest that Ryan hadn’t even been aware of loosened.

~!~

“Not bad, Ryan,” called Mikey.

Ryan gritted his teeth. Not good enough.

“I need more emotion from you,” Mikey said, meeting Ryan’s eyes. “Your technique is impeccable, and that alone would be enough to place you, but there’s no sense of…” he searched for a word. “Performance. It’s as if you’re simply running through the moves.”

“It’s good,” Ray called from where he was standing next to the speakers. “Good enough that ninety percent of people would watch you.” He paused, and Mikey took over.

“But we want a  _ hundred _ percent of the people to be watching, Ryan. You want to captivate  _ everyone _ who watches you.”

“Draw in more viewers, stop them from going about their everyday lives,” Ray added.

Mikey nodded at Ray. “Exactly.” He turned back to Ryan. “Ready to do it again?”

Ryan had already begun moving to his starting position.

The music started, and Ryan let himself sink into it, rather than skimming on top of it, mixing his own experiences and emotions into his movements.

Before he knew it, the variation was over and Ryan felt drained. But he also felt exhilaration - the kind he had felt when he’d done his first clean pirouette, the surge he’d get whenever Brendon would grin at him, and he suddenly remembered why he loved ballet.

Ryan looked at Mikey, who was staring at him, a rare grin slowly creeping over his face.

“Dude!” Somebody yelled. “That was fucking  _ amazing. _ ” Frank - who seemed to appear out of nowhere - barreled towards Ryan, eyes alight. “I can’t even fuckin’ dance n’ don’t know jack shit about it, but that was amazing.”

“Captivating,” Mikey butted in, the grin still on his face.

Ray nodded frantically, beaming. “Ryan, that was…” He shakes his head in wonder. “That was enough to make a hundred percent of people pay attention to you.”

Ryan’s gaze drifted over to Brendon. He had an unreadable look on his face, but his eyes were full of fierce joy.

Joy for Ryan.

Ryan finally let himself hear what everyone was saying, let himself start believing that everyone was being genuine.

And for the first time in over ten years, Ryan felt proud of his dancing. He let his lips quirk upwards in a small smile, holding Brendon’s gaze the whole time.

  
  


Later, in the dressing room, Brendon had come in and wrapped Ryan in a bear hug from behind.

Ryan immediately tried to wriggle out of his grip, but Brendon tightened his grip. “Ry,” he said, voice urgent.

Ryan stopped trying to get out of his grip and turned around to face him. Brendon met his eyes again. “You were fucking amazing, Ry,” Brendon said, low and intense. “You’re going to make it. You’ll make it big.”

They were so close that Ryan could feel Brendon’s breath on his lips, and he wondered if Brendon could feel his heart beating fast and hard.

“I promise you,” Brendon murmured, forehead tipped onto Ryan’s. “You can make it. I know you can.” He kissed Ryan sweet and slow then.

Ryan closed his eyes, kissed Brendon back, and let himself relax.

Then he remembered where they were,  _ what _ they were supposed to be, and he stiffened abruptly, hands coming up to push Brendon away. What if Mikey or Ray had seen them?

Ryan saw Brendon’s face morph into one of hurt, shock, and disappointment in the corner of his eye when he glanced towards the - wide open, Jesus, what had he been doing - door to check that nobody had seen, but when Ryan looked back, Brendon had schooled his features.

Brendon smiled at Ryan, but it seemed a bit forced. He walked over to his own bag, movements a bit stilted, and hoisted it over his shoulder, walking to the door. He looked back just before leaving. “G’bye until tomorrow, then?”

Ryan nodded, then smiled a bit. “Have fun waking up at 6 on a Saturday.”

Brendon groaned dramatically. “Do  _ not _ remind me about that.” He saluted Ryan lazily and left. “See ya.”

“Bye,” Ryan called softly, hearing the front door open and close. He busied himself with making sure that he hadn’t forgotten anything and tried to ignore the fluttering sense of unease in his stomach.

~!~

At YAGP, Ryan looked up from his warm-ups when he heard a knock on the door of his small dressing room.

“Brendon,” he greeted, a small smile on his face.  _ Was he here to talk about what had happened yesterday? _   
“Hey Ryan,” Brendon returned, grinning. “Got a second?” He was acting like everything was normal.

So they weren’t going to talk about the dressing room incident. That suited Ryan just fine.

Ryan snorted. “I’ve got an hour. Come in,” he said, ignoring the fact that he ought to be warmed up and running through his variation in about 20 minutes.

Brendon entered the room, closing the door behind him and looking around. “Nice set-up,” he commented.

Ryan hummed in response, choosing not to say anything about the amount of nervous energy Brendon was putting out.

The two lapsed into silence for a few seconds until Ryan spoke.

“Is everything okay?” He asked, looking curiously at Brendon.

Brendon fidgeted a bit. “I’m fine,” he said.

Ryan raised an eyebrow, and Brendon bit his lip.

“I am! Just-” He dug around in his pocket and came up with something in his hand. “I have something for you. Consider it a good luck gift of sorts.”

He stood in front of Ryan then, eyes hopeful. “Hold out your hands?”

Ryan did, and Brendon poured a chain into his hands. A chain? Why was he getting a chain?

Then he looked closer and held it up, and- oh. That wasn’t a chain.

Well, it was, strictly speaking, but it had a small charm attached.

A small sun hung on the chain, made of what seemed to be opal and shining softly in the light of the room.

“Oh,” Ryan breathed, looking at the small sun spinning slowly on the chain. “Thank you, B. So much.”

“You like it?” Ryan looked up to see Brendon smiling a bit, nervous energy dissipating.

Ryan nodded, awed by the fact that Brendon had actually gotten him something as a gift. He carefully tucked away the necklace in a side pocket on his bag.

“I have to warm up, though, and I won’t be able to wear it onstage.” He winced inwardly when his voice came out too flat - a result of trying to keep his emotions under wraps.

“Oh.” Brendon’s smile faltered for a second. “Yeah, of course. I’ll leave you to that. I should probably start warming up too.” He headed towards the door.

“Good luck,” Ryan risked saying.

Brendon paused. “You too, Ry.” He gave Ryan a small smile before opening the door.

Ryan ignored the voice in his head that was yelling at him to just fucking  _ do something _ and watched Brendon leave. Despite the fact that he really needed to warm up, he had to tamp down the urge to ask Brendon to stay.

The voice quieted when the door to the dressing room clicked shut, leaving Ryan staring at the door in a room that suddenly seemed too quiet.

~!~

“Number two-twenty, Ryan Ross from the USA, variation from Le Corsaire.”

Taking a deep breath, Ryan walked onstage, head held high, and held his beginning pose.

This was it. All he had trained for, all he wanted, depended on this one moment.

The music started, and Ryan let himself be swept away by it. He had never really gotten what people meant when they said that dance consumed them, but that day, he understood.

Before he knew it, the variation was over, and he was bowing to thunderous applause.

As soon as he was offstage and out of the way, he was swept up in a tight hug.

“I knew you could do it, kid.” Ryan broke out into a grin when he heard Mikey’s voice, and squeezed him back.

“Couldn’t have done it without you,” He whispered, and grinned at Mikey when he was released.

Mikey smiled back, warm and proud, and squeezed Ryan tightly again. “Give yourself some credit, Ryan, you’re the one who did all the work.” He released Ryan then. “Gee and Frank are waiting for us in the lobby, if you want to put on coverups and meet them too.”

Ryan nodded, and the two of them headed towards Ryan’s dressing room, heading towards the lobby directly after.

As soon as Ryan stepped into the lobby, “Ryan!” came Gerard’s voice, ecstatic. Ryan turned slightly and was scooped up into another hug.

“You were fucking amazing, Ryan. Fucking amazing.”

“Thank you for teaching me,” Ryan murmured in Gerard’s ear. Gerard shook his head, still hugging Ryan.   
“We only guided you and taught you the moves, Ryan. You’re the one who made them something special.”

“Group hug!” Frank said gleefully, and Ryan was immediately surrounded by an incredibly warm hug, barely able to make out Frank’s tattoos and Mikey’s ever-present baseball cap.

When they broke apart, Mikey squeezed Ryan’s shoulder. “We have to go back to make sure that our seats haven’t been stolen. Do you wanna come with us and find a seat, or are you fine here?”

“I’ll be fine here,” Ryan replied, already searching for a spot to claim in the lobby.

Mikey nodded, and he, Gerard, and Frank disappeared into the auditorium, with Frank whispering, “Proud of you, man,” as he passed, a bright grin on his face.

Ryan drifted over to a nearby bench in the lobby but looked up when he heard his name being called softly.

Brendon was standing a few feet away, eyes wide and uncertain, but the moment their eyes met, Brendon broke out into a broad grin and leapt towards Ryan, talking fast.

“-were fucking amazing, Ry, so fucking good. I could literally  _ see _ stars and hearts in everyone’s eyes, you had the whole audience watching. Even some of the dancers, too, when I was watching the TV from the hallway, people who came out to warm up stopped and were staring at you. God, you were literally fucking unbelievable, Ry, so good.”

Ryan just looked at Brendon for a second, let himself get lost in those eyes. Then, swept up in all of the celebrations and praise, he stepped forward and hugged Brendon tightly before he could think twice about it.

Brendon stiffened for a second then seemed to melt, hugging Ryan back tightly.

“Thank you for pushing me and making sure that I didn’t give up,” Ryan whispered, feeling Brendon’s heart beat against his chest.

He felt Brendon smile into his shoulder and got squeezed harder for a second. “I would do it again,” Brendon responded.

Ryan pulled back slightly, the air between them suddenly charged. “Really?”

Brendon nodded, then pulled back completely, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Don’t make me, though. Once was a fucking pain in the ass.”

The tension broke, and Ryan rolled his eyes.

Brendon laughed and poked Ryan in the side, giggling as Ryan doubled over. But something in his laugh seemed off, and that made Ryan ask, “You okay?”

Brendon shrugged. “Nervous.” He looked at Ryan, gaze anxious. “I feel like I’m gonna fuck up the landings, Ry.”

“You’ll be amazing,” Ryan said, voice steady as he held Brendon’s gaze. “I’ve seen you rehearse your variation and I know that you can perform it perfectly. You’ll blow the judges away.”

“That was rehearsal, though,” Brendon whispered. “I was never being judged, and-” he broke off and his cheeks turned pink. “And you were always there. It felt like a good luck charm.”

Ryan glanced around quickly before he took Brendon’s hand, turned it palm up, and pressed a feather light kiss to the inside of Brendon’s wrist.

“Think of this as a good luck charm,” he said quietly, heart thudding.

“Ry,” Brendon said softly, eyes wide. “I-” he started, then stopped, apparently speechless. He finally settled on hugging Ryan tightly again, head against Ryan’s chest. The two stood there for a while, and for once, Ryan didn’t mind.

After a while, Brendon spoke. “I think my solo’s soon. I should probably go in.”

“Yeah,” Ryan agreed. But neither of them moved, and it was a while until they let go of each other.

  
  


Roughly ten minutes later, Ryan watched, gripping his bag’s strap and standing transfixed, as Brendon nailed his variation, his blue, white, and red sash sailing through the air with him.

No sound came through the TV, but Ryan knew that Brendon would be beaming as he took his bows to loud applause.

Ryan smiled a bit, then set off towards Brendon’s dressing room, where he’d hopefully be waiting for Ryan and ready to get driven home. Ryan was looking forward to going home and flopping onto his bed.

Halfway there, though, Ryan was stopped in the hallway by an important looking man, expensive suit and blonde hair combed back into a perfect pompadour.

“Ryan Ross?” The man asked. Upon Ryan’s nod, he slid out something small and thin from his pocket and handed it to Ryan. “I’m Ellis Conroy, here on behalf of American Ballet Theatre. I assume you are familiar with the name of the company?”

Ryan blinked down at the card, then snapped his gaze back up to the man - Ellis. “I- yes,” he stammered out, hardly able to believe that he’d caught the eye of a ballet company, and one of the most famous ones at that. The fact that this ballet company was his literal dream company was just the cherry atop the fucking unbelievable cake.

Ellis nodded, expression pleasant. “I’m here because we would be very interested in giving you a full scholarship for our summer intensive. It’s five weeks long, in New York, and the scholarship would cover the flight there, along with the tuition.”

Holy shit. He’d be able to go to a summer intensive that he’d always dreamed of attending but never had been able to audition for, due to the lack of money in his household. Speaking of which.

Ryan’s heart sank when he realized that he would never be able to afford going to New York, much less live there for five weeks. Sure, the scholarship would help, but it didn’t cover the meals or the housing. Fuck.

“I can’t afford it,” he confessed in a small voice. “Even with the scholarship, I won’t be able to find affordable housing or meals, or anything else, really.”

Ellis looked thoughtful, shifting his weight to lean back a bit. “Is that so?” he mused. “It would be such a waste of potential for you to not learn any new skills during the summer, though. Especially while you’re still young.” He smiled at Ryan then, redirecting his attention. “We’ll still want you at our intensive, and I’m sure that we will be able to arrange something with the higher-ups. We really do want you at ABT, Ryan, even if just for a summer.” Something buzzed then, and Ellis took his phone - a sleek, polished one that looked like something a millionaire would have - out, sighing as he saw the screen. He looked apologetically at Ryan. “I have to go and catch my flight out, but think about the offer, okay, Ryan? My email is on the card. Contact me any day you want.”

Then he left, leaving Ryan blinking in the middle of the deserted hallway, thinking cliches about how your world can change in a few seconds.

~!~

Ryan went straight home, gripping the steering wheel of his shitty, shitty car as he turned over the scholarship in his mind, still barely able to believe it.

Fuck.

He’d gotten noticed by someone who was sent by American fucking Ballet Theatre. Holy shit. Ryan laughed out loud, the elation bubbling up in his chest.

He made it to his room without any trouble, and he dug out his computer, cursing when he realized that it was dead. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, then made a face when he realized that his hair still had product in it from his performance.

_ Might as well take a shower while my laptop charges, _ he thought with a sigh as he stared at his hand, making a face at the gel that had moved from his hair. His stomach growled then, prompting Ryan to look at the clock. 17:32, it read. Had it really been that long already?  _ Guess I should eat dinner too. _

Ryan left his computer charging while he took a shower and ate dinner. When he reached for it again, he had a full stomach and clean hair, and he hoped to god that the computer was charged enough for him to actually use.

It was, and Ryan quickly opened his email app, composing an email to the address that was on the business card the scout had given him.

  
  


_ To: Ellis Conroy <conroyellis@abt.org> _

_ From: Ryan Ross <ryanross0830@gmail.com> _

_ Subject: Hello _

_ Sent: April 14, 17:34 _

  
  


_ Hi Mr. Conroy, _

_ This is Ryan Ross. You said to contact you, so, well, here I am. _

_ If I understood our conversation correctly, I have a chance to go to an ABT summer intensive. I’d like to know more about this, if possible. _

_ Have a nice day, _

_ Ryan Ross _

  
  


Ryan hit the send button before he could think too much of it, hoping that this Ellis Conroy would at least be quick with his reply. With exhaustion filling every inch of his body now that he was finally home and in bed, Ryan fell asleep quickly.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so i’m like 99.9% sure this isn’t how scholarships work but it’s fine. if u want me to explain some terminology or anything, drop a comment! i'll get back to you asap

_4/14_

BU (16:14): hey don’t worry about driving me to ur house i’ve got some shit to do  
BU (16:16): i have no idea how long i’ll be out but don’t expect me back for a few days

_4/15_

RR (9:58): Come back whenever, B!

~!~

It took a while for Ryan to finally grow the balls to talk to his dad, and that wasn’t made any better by the constant stream of thoughts in his head. He got tired of the stress weighing him down, though, and decided _fuck it_ when he walked into the living room on a Sunday morning.

“Hey, dad?”

His dad turned around, seemingly decently sober. That was a good sign. “Hey, kid. What’s on your mind?”

Ryan exhaled. _Here we go._ “I got a full scholarship to a summer intensive in New York.” He refused to look down at the ground, mulishly keeping his head up.

George just shrugged. “Good for you. You gonna go?”

Ryan blinked, a bit taken aback by his dad’s lack of anger. “I- yeah.”

George nodded. “If it’s a full ride, I don’t see why you shouldn’t go.” He turned back to the TV. “Ask me if you need anything.”

Ryan didn’t bother to reply as he left the room.

Huh. That had been easy.

~!~

_From: Ellis Conroy <conroyellis@abt.org>  
_ _To: Ryan Ross <rossr0830@gmail.com>  
_ _Subject: Re: Hello  
_ _Sent: April 15, 8:24_

_Hi, Ryan!_

_Thank you for reaching out._

_Yes, you have a chance to go to New York City to attend one of American Ballet Theatre’s famed summer intensives, all expenses paid by ABT._

_As of right now, all we have to know is if you’ll be able to make it to the intensive, which is five weeks long, starting June 24th. I’ll contact you at a later date to confirm flight times and arrangements in New York._

_Best,_

_Ellis Conroy_

_Talent Scout  
_ _American Ballet Theatre_

  
  


_To: Ellis Conroy <conroyellis@abt.org>  
_ _From: Ryan Ross <ryanross0830@gmail.com>  
_ _Subject: Re: Hello  
_ _Sent: April 15, 20:48_

_My calendar is free for the entire summer, so yes, I can make it! Looking forward to more details._

_-Ryan_

  
  


_4/15_

_RR (20:50): Uh holy shit im going to ABT_

_4/17_

_BU (2:04): nice_

_RR (7:34): I know!! I’ve wanted to go since i was a kid_

~!~

No response from Brendon.

Ryan frowned. This wasn’t normal for Brendon, who usually sent Ryan random thoughts and sentences and sometimes song lyrics from random songs throughout the day.

Ryan sighed and put his phone in his pocket, hoping that Brendon would feel better soon. Or something.

~!~

_From: Ellis Conroy <conroyellis@abt.org>  
_ _To: Ryan Ross <rossr0830@gmail.com>  
_ _Subject: When to Leave?  
_ _Sent: May 2, 13:24_

_Hi Ryan,_

_Hope you’re doing well! Whew, it’s been a while since we’ve contacted each other. I’ve been talking to Sascha, the head of ABT, and we’ve both agreed that it would be best for you to finish high school before coming here. Your high school diploma is within reach; it would be a shame to let it go._

_Of course, ultimately it’s your decision when you decide to fly over, but you’d have to let us know in order for us to secure a plane flight for you._

_Email back when you’ve decided! And as always, feel free to ask any questions you might have._

_Best,_

_Ellis Conroy_

_Talent Scout  
_ _American Ballet Theatre_

  
  


_To: Ellis Conroy <conroyellis@abt.org>  
_ _From: Ryan Ross <ryanross0830@gmail.com>  
_ _Subject: Re: When to Leave?  
_ _Sent: May 4, 21:32_

_I’ve been doing pretty well. Lots of rehearsals, and it’s getting hotter and hotter. One of these days the studio will be more like an oven._

_Leaving when I’ve graduated seems like a good idea. School ends in about a month on June 12, but I’d want to stay for a few days after, just to make sure that I’ve gotten in all my goodbyes, even if it is for the summer._

_One question: what would the housing situation be like? I don’t mind sharing, but I just like being prepared, I guess._

_Thank you for all the effort you and Sascha are putting into this. I really appreciate it._

_-Ryan_

  
  


_To: Ryan Ross <ryanross0830@gmail.com>  
_ _From: Ellis Conroy <conroyellis@abt.org>  
_ _Subject: Re: When to Leave?  
_ _Sent: May 5, 10:02_

_Oh, rehearsing in an oven studio does not seem fun. I sympathize._

_Would June 20th work for you? It’s either that or the 15th. The flight on the 20th takes off at 3 AM, and the flight on the 15th takes off at 4 pm. Your choice!_

_As for the housing, you’ll most likely be sharing an apartment with William Beckett. He’s relatively new to the company, and I’m sure you’ll get along well. I hope you don’t mind that you’ll be sharing with a company member; there weren’t many options, and this seemed to be the best fit._

_It’s no problem, getting you to the intensive. We’re all looking forward to seeing you!_

_Best,_

_Ellis Conroy_

_Talent Scout  
_ _American Ballet Theatre_

  
  


Ryan stared at the computer screen. He was sharing an apartment with a _company_ member? Was that normal, housing a scholarship dancer with a fucking company member?

He shook his head, still partly in disbelief, ran a hand over his face, and started typing out a response.

_To: Ellis Conroy <conroyellis@abt.org>  
_ _From: Ryan Ross <ryanross0830@gmail.com>  
_ _Subject: Re: When to Leave?  
_ _Sent: May 5, 21:13_

_I think June 15th would be the better option for me; I can’t sleep on flights anyway. A shared apartment sounds good, don’t worry._

_How would I get to said apartment after the flight, though?_

_-Ryan_

  
  


_To: Ryan Ross <ryanross0830@gmail.com>  
_ _From: Ellis Conroy <conroyellis@abt.org>  
_ _Subject: Re: When to Leave?  
_ _Sent: May 6, 9:25_

_William’s volunteered to pick you up! Better to get to know each other sooner than later, isn’t it?_

_I’ve attached your ticket for the flight, and everything else should be fine. If it doesn’t seem to work at the airport, don’t panic, and just call me. Hopefully that doesn’t happen, though._

_Best,_

_Ellis Conroy_

_Talent Scout  
_ _American Ballet Theatre_

~!~

Though Ryan knew that there was next to no chance of the ticket not working, he still released a breath of relief when the light on the ticket scanner turned green. The attendant waved him through, and Ryan was free to find his seat.

He did, thankful that it was a window seat, and settled in for a ride across the country, praying that he wouldn’t get airsick.

Fortunately, he didn’t, and Ryan still had the contents of his stomach intact when he stepped outside the airport and into the pickup-by-car area, clutching the handle of his suitcase.

Almost immediately, he spotted a lanky guy leaning against a car, holding a sign that read “RYAN ROSS” in bold letters.

Ryan made his way over, trying not to freak out. He was actually in New York, about to attend a summer intensive hosted by the ballet company he had always loved.

The guy stood up straighter as Ryan drew closer and stuck his hand out.

“Boys will be boys,” he stated casually.

“Hiding in estrogen,” Ryan replied, taking his hand and completing what Ellis had called “the incredibly secret code phrase that you two can use to make sure that you aren’t getting kidnapped.”

The guy broke out into a grin, pumping Ryan’s hand in a firm handshake. “Ryan, right?” Upon seeing Ryan’s nod, his grin grew wider. “I’m William Beckett, but you can call me Bill. Most people do.” Opening the trunk, he laughed. “Well it’s either that, Bilvy, or dickhead. Or asshole. Here, hand me your suitcase.”  
William switched gears so smoothly that it took Ryan a second to comply.

William lifted Ryan’s suitcase into the trunk and said, “Go ahead and get in the passenger’s seat.”

Ryan did, eyeing the leather seats.

“Nice car,” he said when William got into the driver’s seat.

William grinned. “Thank you! I managed to get the price down to 50%, then swapped in my old car for another 50% off. One hell of a deal, if you ask me.”

Ryan nodded, and William started the engine, which purred to life and made Ryan wonder absentmindedly if all cars were supposed to sound like that. His sure as hell didn’t.

William kept up a relatively frequent stream of chatter, the radio filling in the silences. However, he seemed to know when to stop talking, which Ryan appreciated. He didn’t think that it would be hard at all to get along with William.

The pair arrived at their location after thirty minutes of driving. William parked quickly and they made their way over to the elevators.

“We’re on the fourth floor,” William said. “In 423.”

Inside the apartment, William handed Ryan a set of keys, to his surprise. “These will get you in and out of both this apartment and the complex. The boring key opens the doors to the complex, and the one with Aladdin on it opens the door to this apartment.”

Ryan looked up from the keys at that. “Why Aladdin?”

William shrugged. “Easy to distinguish. Also, he’s fucking awesome.”

“Huh. He doesn’t have nipples, though.”

William just laughed. “I choose to ignore that.”

Ryan smiled back and looked down at the keys again. “Thank you, though. Really.”

William waved it off. “No big deal. Things can get a bit overwhelming, especially if it’s your first intensive, and it’s easier if you have someone to guide you through everything. I’m happy to help.”

And that was that.

~!~

The first day of the intensive came quickly, and Ryan had been driven to the studios by William somewhat grudgingly.

“You’ll be fine, Ryan,” William said as he parked the car. He waited until both of them were out of the car and walking towards the elevator that led to ABT’s studios before speaking again. “Your teachers are really good. I asked around for you.”

“For me?” Ryan asked, unable to contain his surprise.

William nodded. “Believe it or not, I care about you, and I wanted to look out for you just in case.” He pressed the ‘up’ button for the elevator, and the doors slid open.

“Thanks, mom,” Ryan said as they got into the elevator, hoping that his smile would get his gratefulness across. It seemed to, because William broke out into a grin and shook his head. “You’ve got to get in there, find your levels, and wow all of your teachers and classmates already. They’re gonna wonder where you’ve been hiding. Also, I’m driving you to and from classes for at least this week, but you’re going to learn about the beauty that is the New York public transit system this weekend.”

“A week?” Ryan asked. “Why can’t you just teach me after today?”

William was adamant, shaking his head. “You’re gonna he knocked out. Believe me, you’ll be wanting a ride. And who knows? Maybe you’ll never ride the Metro for as long as you’re here. Still good to learn about how it works, though.”

The elevator dinged cheerfully, and the two of them were at what seemed to be a reception area. William waved at the man sitting behind the desk, who waved back.

“Intensive student?” he asked, quirking an inquisitive eyebrow at Ryan. When Ryan nodded, he hummed in assent, turning to his computer. “Last name?”

“Ross,” Ryan replied, eyes taking in his surroundings. There wasn’t much to look at, if he was going to be honest; just a gleaming silver plaque on the beige wall that read, ‘American Ballet Theatre,’ along with a potted plant next to the desk.

“George Ryan Ross?” The receptionist asked, looking up from behind his computer. Fighting a wince, Ryan nodded again.

The receptionist pushed a packet across the top of the desk. “You have orientation this morning. Just head down the hall to your left and find the open door. This packet has everything you need, including your nametag and papers with information on who you can call if you have any questions. Additionally, you can stop by this desk, and we’ll be happy to answer any questions you might have.”

He smiled at Ryan. “You can find out what level you were put in after orientation is over, and you can move to whichever floor you were put on from there. Did you get all of that?”

Ryan nodded, taking the packet and turning over the information in his head. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome!” chirped the receptionist as Ryan and William moved away from the desk and into the entrance of the hallway. William placed his hand on Ryan’s shoulder. “You got it from here?”

Ryan glanced down the hall and nodded, suddenly full of anticipation. He was finally here, after all those emails and the plane ride to New York. Holy shit.

William grinned. “Good. I have to go, but you’re going to kill it, Ryan. Go and learn some new moves.”

With that, William was gone, and Ryan moved forward towards the room he could now see had a door open.

He entered the room and found it full of kids ranging from what seemed to be around 10 to his age. The orientation hadn’t started yet, and everyone was milling around. Everyone seemed to know each other, though, so Ryan moved further into the room and sat down in the back.

Orientation, once it started, was over pretty quickly, and Ryan followed everyone else to where the level assignments had been taped up to the wall.

Ryan didn’t know which level he’d expected to be put in, but he certainly hadn’t expected to be put in Violet, the highest level.

Upon seeing his name under that category, Ryan blinked in disbelief and read the names again. Maybe there was another George Ryan Ross, as unlikely as it seemed...? Nope.

“What level did you get put in?” asked a girl nearby as Ryan moved away from the assignments. Ryan didn’t turn towards her voice, assuming that she was talking to someone else, then spun around when someone tapped him on the shoulder.

“You, tall boy,” said the girl whose voice he’d heard, looking directly at Ryan. She looked about his age, maybe a year younger. “What level are you in?”

“Violet,” Ryan replied, still a bit overwhelmed with everything going on around him.

The girl looked a bit impressed. “Really? I haven’t seen you at ABT NYC before. You a scholarship kid? Half or full?”

Ryan reeled back for a second from the rapid fire questions, but managed to reply with, “Full.”

Now the girl looked really impressed. “You must be something else, then. Too bad you’re not in my level.” She eyed him head to toe, then winked. “If you ever want to get to know me, come to the sixth floor.”

She then disappeared into the mass of kids around them, leaving Ryan a bit more disoriented than he had been before. What was _that_?

Frowning, he decided to ignore what had just happened and joined the throng of people getting into the elevator.

Ryan got off on the seventh floor and found the location of the Violet classroom easily. He still had ten minutes to warm up, so he took out his phone and earbuds, but then realized that he definitely would give into the urge to check his texts with Brendon if he unlocked his phone. So Ryan hurriedly put the phone away, stuffing it into a pocket inside his backpack, and zipped it shut for good measure after taking out his dance shoes.

Ryan completed his warm-ups in silence.

Classes were uneventful, and before Ryan knew it, it was lunch. He sat down next to his bag, and as he took his lunch out, his eyes caught on his phone. He bit his lip, thinking of Brendon’s continuing silence, then reached into his backpack and quickly dropped his phone into his lap, hoping that Brendon would respond soon.

He dug into his lunch, thinking about nothing in particular, when suddenly a voice sounded from above him.

“Hey.”

Ryan looked up when he heard the voice, warm and friendly. He found himself looking into clear blue eyes, corners crinkled up into a smile.

He blinked up at the newcomer.

“Can I sit here?” the newcomer asked.

Surprised that anybody would want to sit with him voluntarily, Ryan just nodded mutely and watched as the newcomer plopped down, taking out a salad from his backpack.

“I’m Spencer,” he said as he popped open the salad container.

Oh. Right. Introductions.

“I’m Ryan,” Ryan said as he watched Spencer warily.

“I know,” said Spencer with a smile. “You’re the kid who managed to get a full ride into ABT New York. Pretty impressive, if you ask me.”

Right. Ryan felt his expression close down as he realized that Spencer was only talking to him because of the fact that he’d gotten a full scholarship.

“Oh, hey, no, I’m not here just because of that,” Spencer added hastily. “I just- you looked lonely.”

Ryan felt his eyebrows rise. “Did I?”

Spencer nodded. “You were the only sitting person by yourself.” He gestured around the room.

Ryan looked around and saw that everyone else really were sitting in groups, laughing and talking with each other.

Oh.

Ryan felt a painful twinge in his gut, a reminder that nobody had bothered to befriend him.

Well, except for Spencer, who had been studying Ryan, eyes bright and piercing.

“You didn’t notice, did you?” he asked quietly, the question somehow not sounding invasive.

Ryan shook his head, fiddling with his phone, which was still in his hands from when Spencer had interrupted him. “I guess I was a bit preoccupied,” he admitted.

“Do you want to tell me about it?” Spencer asked, tone sympathetic.

Ryan hesitated, then shrugged. “I think I got dumped or something,” he admitted, still fidgeting with his phone.

“You think?” Spencer repeated, frowning with a bite of salad halfway to his mouth.

Ryan sighed. “I’m not getting a response to any of my texts and none of my calls go through.”

Spencer winced. “Ouch.” He seemed to think about something for a moment, chewing, then seemed to come to a conclusion. “Just give her a few days. Chances are, she’s either fucking with you, or something’s stopping her from responding, like parents or something.”

Ryan opened his mouth to correct Spencer on the pronouns, then closed it abruptly. Here was the first person willing to be Ryan had made, more than halfway through the first ady into the intensive. Did he really want to scare Spencer off and be without someone to talk to for the next five weeks? He sighed. “I guess. Thanks, Spencer.”

Spencer shrugged. “It’s no problem. Hey, by the way, who are your favorite musical artists?”

Ryan perked up at that, grabbing onto something that would distract him from Brendon. Conversation between the two flowed smoothly, and when lunch wrapped up, Spencer grinned at Ryan, smiling bright.

“I like you. Can we do this again tomorrow?”

Ryan smiled back and nodded, thinking that the next day might be a little more manageable.

~!~

It was the last day of week four of the intensive when somebody walked up to Ryan at the end of the day. He’d been packing up his stuff, going over what he’d learned that day in his head, when someone cleared their throat behind him. Ryan twisted around to find somebody staring down at him with a grin on his face.

“Ellis!” Ryan greeted, pleasantly surprised.

“Hey, Ryan. Nice to see you again,” said Ellis with a. grin. “Do you have a few minutes to spare? Somebody would like to talk to you. I’m supposed to take you up to his office, actually.”

Ryan nodded. “Yeah, I’ve got time.” He was taking the subway anyways, which meant that he didn’t have to text William or anything to get him to wait.

Ellis nodded. “Then we can just go up, and catch up while we’re at it!”

Ryan pulled his backpack onto his shoulders and followed Ellis into the elevator, watching as he pressed the button for the tenth floor.

“Do you live in New York City?” He asked as he tried to figure out why Ellis — who he’d last seen in Nevada, for god’s sake — was in the same place as him.

Ellis shook his head. “I live in California, actually. I was flown out to Nevada and to here for business trips.”

The elevator dinged, and Ryan and Ellis made small talk until they stopped in front of a door. Ellis rapped sharply on the door before turning and smiling apologetically at Ryan. “I’m afraid that I have to run, Ryan, but email me sometime, yeah?” He smiled, waved, and disappeared around a corner.

“Come in!” called out a voice from behind the door. Ryan took a deep breath and opened the door, finding himself in a modern-looking office. He closed the door as the person behind the desk stood up, sticking out a hand. “Ryan Ross?”

“Yeah,” Ryan said as he shook the guy’s hand and took him in. He was pretty short, Ryan noticed - maybe a head shorter than Ryan, give or take a few inches.

The guy released Ryan’s hand and gestured at a chair, sitting down himself. “Take a seat! I don’t bite, I promise.”

Ryan sat down, and the guy smiled. “I’m Patrick Stump, executive director of ABT.”

That seemed like one hell of a high rank, and also explained the office. This could not be good.

“Have I done something wrong?” Ryan blurted out, unable to stop himself.

Patrick looked surprised for a split second, but shook his head. “No, no! Of course not! I just have an offer to make you, Ryan.”

That didn’t sound much better, but Ryan sat there and waited for Patrick to elaborate.

“We here at ABT have noticed that you’re incredibly dedicated to dance, Ryan, and we would be interested in offering you a spot in our company as an apprentice.”

Huh. That was not what Ryan had been expe- wait, what?

“You want to offer me a spot in the company,” Ryan repeated slowly. ABT wanted _him_?

Patrick nodded. “You have extreme potential and skill, and we think that you would fit right in with the rest of the company.”

Ryan started at Patrick, dumbstruck and unable to answer. He could hardly believe it- the fucking executive director of ABT had personally offered him a spot, along with saying that Ryan had extreme potential and skill? The intensive had been one thing, with thousands of kids getting accepted every summer, but a fucking spot in the company? Holy shit.

Patrick seemed to take Ryan’s silence as doubt and uncertainty, though, because he added, “You don’t have to take the offer, of course, and-“

“No,” Ryan interrupted a bit hurriedly. “No, I’d like to join the company. I’d love to, really.” His hand found the chain around his neck, fingers worrying at it as he spoke. “Just, uh, how exactly would this all work out?”

Patrick’s purely professional demeanor softened, and he smiled. “Sorry, that must have been a lot to take in.”

Ryan managed a shaky laugh and nodded, hand now around the sun on the chain. “Yeah, a bit. Sorry, I started to freak out a bit.”

Patrick laughed too, sudden and warm. “That may have been my fault. I haven’t personally invited anybody to the company before. It’s usually by email after an audition, but I’ve heard that you probably wouldn’t be able to come to an audition. However, your attendance and participation during the classes at our intensive has been all the audition you needed, if you wanted to know why you didn’t need an audition to get in.”

Shit. Had they really been paying that much attention to Ryan? Had they really thought he was that good?

Patrick continued, oblivious to Ryan’s complete and utter disbelief of this entire situation. “In the company, you’d start off as an apprentice. You’d take the same company classes as everyone else, which you need to attend at least six days a week with an optional, but highly recommended, class on the seventh day. Classes are optional and encouraged on holidays. However, during rehearsals, you’ll most likely be cast as a background character, as you’re an apprentice. Rehearsals are mandatory, and schedules will be emailed to you.” Patrick looked at Ryan, eyes serious. “Is this sounding okay so far? Take a moment to think if you need it, and remember that being a company member is not something to take lightly. It is a job, and we expect you to treat it as such.”

This sounded way better than Ryan had ever imagined. “Alright so far,” he said firmly. He was not going to fuck up what could be the most important moment of his life.

Patrick nodded and plowed on. “You’ll be paid every two weeks, and you won’t have to worry about paying for the classes or the dance equipment, costumes, and repairs or tailoring of costumes. Of course, if you break the conditions, you will be at danger of either being put on probation or being kicked from the company.”

“What are the conditions?” Ryan asked, proud of how stable his voice sounded.

“Oh!” Patrick opened a drawer and pulled out a relatively thin packet, handing it to Ryan. Ryan took it gingerly, feeling like this would prove to be a dream and dissolve around him if he made a wrong move. “These. Just take the packet home, read through it carefully, and sign it to make sure that you’ve read it and understand everything. Then you can come back and give it to me, sign a few more things, and you’ll officially be an American Ballet Theatre company member.”

Patrick leaned back in his chair, looking thoughtful. “I think that’s about it. All you have to do is go home, make sure that being a part of our company is what you really, truly want, and sign that packet to give back to me. William can help you if you need it, since he’s signed the packet and gone through this whole thing too.” Patrick fixed his gaze on Ryan. “Do you have any questions?”

Ryan shook his head after a moment of thinking. “No. No questions.”

Patrick smiled warmly. “You’re free to go, then. Thank you for your time.”

“Thank you,” Ryan said as he stood up to leave. “Seriously.”

Patrick just shook his head, still smiling. “I’m glad you decided to join, Ryan. You’ll be a fantastic part of the company.”

Ryan left the office with those words echoing in his head, a grin spreading over his face. Holy fuck. He was going to be a company member in fucking American Ballet Theatre.

All the way home, he couldn’t wipe the grin off his face, and he walked with a little bounce in his step. Holy shit. He was finally free from his god-forsaken father. That thought alone was enough to make him stop taking out his keys for a second, and he laughed out loud, triumphant and giddy.

“Ryan!” William greeted as Ryan entered the apartment. “What’s got you so happy?”

“I got invited to be a company member,” Ryan replied, grinning as William’s face turned into one of glee.

“Ryan! That’s fucking amazing!” He just about yelled as he vaulted over the couch and swept Ryan into a hug, starting to babble. “I can’t wait for rehearsals to start, they're gonna be so much better with you there!”

Ryan hugged William back tightly, still grinning. “I can’t wait either.”

  
  


Later, Ryan took his phone out, opened the messaging app, and stared at _his_ name. Should he? He’d texted him before, the time between the messages getting longer and longer, but the silence had always been the same, no matter the message.

Should he?  
Ryan’s not sure if he’d even get a response. He doubted it.

And yet.

The hope of Brendon actually reacting to his message made Ryan click on their conversation, about to type in a message. What he saw made him stop abruptly, his heart pounding.

_Read 8/06._

That was only two days after Ryan had sent his message - one that had simply read, ‘i miss u.’

He had sent it at two in the morning, unable to sleep and thinking of how he’d managed to get into ABT. That had just devolved into thinking about Brendon, which was pretty normal.

But then he’d started to think about YAGP, and at that point he’d gone to the bathroom to splash water on his face in an attempt to stop thinking about that one day - that one day where he’d thought that he and Brendon might actually be good together. When he’d looked up to dry his face, Ryan’s gaze had caught on the chain hanging around his neck. The one that had been there since YAGP and only taken off for showers and shows, the small sun glinting in the harsh lights of the bathroom.

The memory of Brendon’s face, open and carefully hopeful, had rushed into Ryan’s brain, leaving him breathless and with a sense of yearning so intense that he’d wanted to scream.

He’d clenched the towel in his hands instead, water dripping off the tip of his nose as he’d stared at his phone, back in the bedroom. Slowly, he’d walked over, picked it up, and typed in that message, thumb hovering over the ‘send’ button before he’d slowly brought it down.

After, Ryan had tossed and turned in bed before giving up and making himself coffee at five in the morning, regretting the message all the while.

Brendon had seen it, though.

Which made it a little more worth it. It meant that he still had his phone but just hadn’t responded. Maybe he’d gotten it taken away? Why else wouldn’t he respond?

A surge of hope let Ryan type out, “B! I got invited into abt’s company!!!”

He sent the message with a stab at the ‘send’ button, sending it before he could chicken out and exit the conversation.

Ryan put the phone on his bedside table, making sure that alerts were on, and climbed into bed oddly hopeful.

He fell asleep easily, hoping that there would be a response the next day.

Except there wasn’t a response the next day. Or the next. Or the day after that, when Monday rolled around.

It’s the last week of the intensive, and Ryan would usually be all over the resources at his disposal during classes, but all he could think of is Brendon, and he’s moving sluggishly, the lack of sleep catching up to him.

During lunch, the first thing Ryan did is open the conversation with Brendon, expecting to see the word ‘delivered.’

Instead, he saw _‘Read 10:52.’_

Ryan’s stomach lurched. That had been during his last class, conditioning, where he’d pushed himself harder than usual in an attempt to forget about Brendon’s silence.

That had worked temporarily, but now all of Ryan’s stress came rushing back.

Why hadn’t Brendon replied?

Ryan’s still staring at his screen when lunch ended, and he’s distracted for the rest of the day, making mistakes in the choreography on multiple occasions.

He couldn’t seem to pay attention for the next few days either, constantly fucking up one thing or another over a dozen times in each class.

It took until Wednesday for someone to call him out on it.

“Ryan?” One of his teachers called. “Can you come here for a second?”

Ryan detached from the barre where he’d been warming up on auto-pilot and drifted over to the teacher while he tried to remember her name and wondered if he'd done something wrong. Shit, maybe they’d decided that they didn’t want him in the company at all. He covered up the flare of panic in the base of his stomach with a smile directed at the teacher.

“Did you want something, ma’am?”

She smiled back, but her expression was worried. “Are you doing okay, Ryan? I’m a bit worried about you.”

...What?

The teacher interpreted his silence as confusion accurately. “You’ve been lost in your head recently, and you’re missing choreography that you’ve never missed before.”

Shit. Has he been that out of it? So bad that his teacher was pointing it out? And because of Brendon, too? Ryan could feel his heart dropping as he realized that the position in the company was most definitely going to be taken away. _The least I can do is take it calmly,_ he thought grimly. _Even if they don’t take away the offer, I’ll still be watched. Scrutinized. I need to make sure that this never happens again._ Because without the offer, what would Ryan have?

He’d have to go back to his dad and his life without dance, without motivation, without meaning. He couldn’t have that. Ryan _needed_ the spot in the company. So he made a promise to himself at that moment. Dance first, above anything and everything. He couldn’t let anything affect his dancing.

Having accepted his decision with a stony determination, Ryan smiled apologetically at his teacher. “I’m doing fine, ma’am. I just had a lot on my mind. I’m really sorry; it won’t happen again.”

His teacher studied him for a second, then nodded with a small smile. “I’m glad to hear it, Ryan. You’re an incredible dancer and an even better person.”

Ryan flushed a bit and opened his mouth to thank her and apologize again, but she just waved him off.

“It’s okay, Ryan. Really. Now, go warm up. I don’t want you pulling any muscles.”  
Ryan shut his mouth and went, giving her a grateful smile.

His promise to himself echoed in his mind as he took his memories of Brendon and locked them away, and later when he deleted Brendon’s number from his phone, pushing down the emotions that were threatening to overtake him.

And if Ryan still wore that small sun around his neck? Well, nobody knew who gave it to him apart from the gifter himself, and he wasn’t talking to Ryan anyways. Besides, it’s a reminder: forgetting about Brendon was a small price to pay for a position in the company of American fucking Ballet Theatre.

He had to let go.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> synopsis from wikipedia! also, if you wanna watch it the ballet i'm talkin bout: https://youtu.be/rQsECoq9XGM
> 
> i skipped over some of the parts but it's really interesting i recommend watching 12/10

“Hey, Brendon,” Jon greets when he clatters into the chair across Brendon, dropping his bag onto a spare chair.

“Jon!” Brendon grins. “How’s my favorite cat dad doing?”

Jon grins. “Good, good. You?”

“Never been better,” Brendon days as he flashes a smile at the waitress coming over to their table.

She smiles back then addresses both of them. “The usual for you gents?”

Jon nods after Brendon’s affirmation and grins at the waitress. “Thank you, Diana.”

She nods and collects their menus and is off to the kitchen, leaving Brendon to regard Jon suspiciously. “Why do you look so excited? Is there somebody you’re not telling me about? Another cat?”

Jon snorts and shakes his head. “My love life is as dry as before, if not drier, and I don’t think I can manage another cat, as much as I like them. No, I’m excited because I’ve secured us tickets to a, get this,“ he leans forward. “To a secret event!”

Brendon stares at Jon. “You don’t know what the fucking tickets are for? Where did you get them, eBay?”

Jon shakes his head, still looking oddly excited. “No, I know what the event is. The fun part is that you don’t know where we’re going this weekend, B.” He leans back in his chair. “I know you don’t have musical rehearsals. I checked.”

“Where-“

“Your musical theater program talent agency thing has every cast member‘s schedule on it’s website. You’re not ditching me this time.”

Brendon slouches in his seat, feeling guilt crash over him with the mention of That One Time. “That only happened once!”

Jon points a finger at Brendon, though the effect is somewhat ruined by the french fry that he’s holding. “One too many times, Urie.”

Brendon sighs and crosses his arms, defeated. “Fine. I’ll sacrifice my line-practicing time to go to this secret event thing.” He then abruptly realizes something. “Hey, you stole my fries!”

Jon shrugs, chewing happily on his - stolen - french fry. Asshole. “Survival of the fittest, Brendon.”

“That’s definitely not how it works,” Brendon sulks. Jon pushes his food towards Brendon, though, so he counts it as a win.

  
  


The day of the supremely secret event is soon upon Brendon, and he realizes the morning of that he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to wear.

BU: wtf do i wear tonight  
JW: Lol it’s not that fancy don’t sweat it  
BU: so like semi formal? more details jon plz  
JW: I’m wearing actual shoes instead of flip-flops, along with a nice shirt  
BU: then semi formal. any event where you don’t wear flip flops is one to dress up at least slightly for  
JW: I guess. Try a button up and nice pants or jeans without holes in them at the very least  
BU: i’m pretty sure none of my jeans have holes in them  
BU: thanks though. semi formal it is!

In the end, Brendon winds up wearing a button up and slacks. He prays that it’s casual enough when he steps back from perfecting his hair, looking at himself in the mirror. Passable, he decides. Glancing at the clock, he decides that it’s time to leave. Grabbing his phone, keys, and wallet, he checks himself over one last time and is out the door, on his way to Jon’s, where they’re catching a ride to wherever the fuck they’re going.

Jon is dressed similarly to Brendon, and Brendon lets out a small sigh of relief. At least if they’re not dressed properly, they’ll be incorrectly dressed together.

The cab ride to the event location is uneventful, and they arrive relatively quickly.

Jon prevents Brendon from looking at any of the posters on the outside of the building or at the tickets, then only takes one program from the usher, hiding the cover the entire time.

“Do I get to know what the he... ck we’re watching yet?” Brendon grumbles, half joking, when they find their seats.

Jon just smiles serenely and shakes his head, still hiding the program. Brendon curses Jon’s parents in his head for birthing Jon, then apologizes quickly afterwards, feeling bad.

Eventually, the auditorium lights dim and the show starts.

Brendon recognizes the music in the music but frowns, because wow that does not look like Swan Lake. And- oh, this isn’t the classic Swan Lake. At all.

Brendon finds himself oddly intrigued in the story, and his eyes keep tracking the dancer playing the swan across the stage whenever he’s on stage. He’s slender, but it’s obvious that he’s not just skin and bone, muscles rippling under his skin. His gaze is intense, and though Brendon knows it’s the effects of the makeup, he still jolts a bit whenever the swan turns his head to the audience.

There’s something raw and oddly familiar in the way the swan dances, and Brendon has to admire the way he moves with ease when he dances with the dancer playing the prince.

Before Brendon knows it, the dancers are taking their bows and the lights in the auditorium are bright again.

Jon turns towards Brendon when people around them are filing out the doors, chattering, an expectant look on his face. “So, what did you think?”

“I forgot that it wasn’t, like, a play or something for a second,” Brendon replies, still taking in the ending of the ballet and the entire ballet. “Like, I knew it was a ballet, but at the same time, I was surprised when the queen started dancing.” He grins at Jon. “It was fucking amazing. Thank you, dude.”

Jon grins back, looking satisfied. “I knew you’d like it! By the way, hey, did you want to look at the program?”

“Uh, yeah.” Brendon makes grabby hands at the program, which says on the cover in bold font,  _ Matthew Bourne’s Swan Lake _ .

Brendon opens it to the synopsis page, reading it to double check what he thought the plot had been.

  
  


_ “In the prologue, the Prince, as a child, is awakened by a nightmare of a swan. The Prince's mother comes in to comfort him, but becoming nervous by the situation's intimacy, leaves. _

_ Scene 1 opens with the Prince being prepared for a day of official duties by chambermaids and valets. _

_ In Scene 2, arrayed in his full dress uniform, the Prince becomes bored by a boat christening, a ribbon cutting, and other official tasks. His mother prods him to keep up appearances, even as she devotes more attention to the soldiers than she does to him. During this scene, there is a transition from the child actor playing the young Prince to the identically-dressed adult dancer who portrays the grown Prince. This now-adult Prince is introduced to a girl called "the Girlfriend". Although the girl seems foisted on him by von Rothbart, the Private Secretary, the Prince prefers her to his duty-bound life. _

_ In Scene 3, the Queen, one of her admiring soldiers, the Private Secretary, the Prince, and the Girlfriend all appear in a theatre box, where they watch a ballet that is staged for the actual audience as well as for the characters. The ballet's backdrop (from a design for Castle Falkenstein by Christian Jank), ornate costumes, and acting parody the romantic ballets of which the original Swan Lake was an example. The Girlfriend's responses to the dance as well as her eventual dropping her purse from the royal box annoy the Queen and von Rothbart. _

_ Scene 4 finds the Prince drinking in his private chambers in front of a mirror, to his mother's shock. A nearly violent pas de deux ensues in which he pleads for her attention and love, while she rebukes him. _

_ The Prince then goes into the streets and into the Swank Bar, a 1970s-style disco, in Scenes Five and Six. Here is where the choreography veers from classical ballet, with jazz forms and modern dance dominating. The Prince gets into a fight with sailors at the bar, and he is thrown out into the street. In Scene Seven, he sees the Girlfriend being paid off by von Rothbart, and he is totally shattered to discover that the only person who appeared to love him is a fake. This increases his desperation and he vows to kill himself. _

_ While sitting in the street at the end of Scene Seven the Prince imagines a group of swans flying towards him but the vision disappears. It is the first flash of the Prince's descent into mental turmoil. _

**_Act II_ **

_ Distraught and disappointed that he will never find affection, the Prince writes a suicide note and goes to throw himself into a lake at a public park inhabited by swans. He is saved by a vision in which he encounters the lead Swan, who had appeared to him in his dreams. Initially rejected by the lead Swan, the Prince is gradually accepted and taken into the Swan's arms. The Prince is elated and abandons his plan to kill himself. This Act contains the most talked-about element of the ballet in which bare-chested, barefoot male dancers play the swans, and it contains a very sensual pas de deux between the lead Swan and the Prince. _

**_Act III_ **

_ Scene 1 begins with princesses from various European nations and their escorts arriving at the palace gates for a grand ball. The Girlfriend sneaks in amongst them _

_ Scene 2 takes place in a ballroom. It commences with the arrival of the Queen and the Prince and some formal dancing, but quickly degenerates into a debauched party of drinking and lascivious come-ons. Into this arrives the charismatic and sexually aggressive son of von Rothbart, the Private Secretary, in black leather trousers, who intensifies the sexual tension even further by flirting with every woman present, including the Queen. Each woman finds herself drawn to him and actively participates in the mutual, sometimes lewd, flirtation. _

_ Just as in the original Swan Lake, where customarily (although not always) one ballerina performs the roles of both the white swan (Odette) and the black swan (Odile), the same ballet dancer performs the white Swan and the black-clad young von Rothbart in this version. The Prince sees something of his beloved Swan in the son, and he is very attracted to his bravado and animal magnetism but shocked by his lewdness, especially towards his mother. During bump and grind group numbers and a sequence of national dances, it becomes clear that the Queen is powerfully attracted to von Rothbart's son. His father, the Private Secretary, looks on with an increasingly triumphant approval. The Prince also tries to approach young von Rothbart, only to be rebuffed. The Prince retreats into his mind and imagines dancing intimately with him, but the Prince's confusion interrupts the fantasy, and the son's movements turn from love to violence. _

_ The Prince imagines the Queen and young von Rothbart flaunting their growing physical affection for each other. They join with the other guests at the ball to laugh and ridicule him because of his growing distress. The Queen and young von Rothbart end their dancing with an embrace and passionate kissing. The Prince, in his fury, violently separates them and is rewarded by outrage from both and a slap from his mother. Overwhelmed by conflicted feelings, the Prince produces a pistol and threatens to shoot his mother. In an ensuing scuffle the Girlfriend tries to dissuade the Prince, while the Private Secretary draws a pistol and points it at the Prince. As shots ring out, the Girlfriend and the Prince fall to the ground, but only the Girlfriend has been hit. She lies unconscious and the Prince is dragged away, while the Queen throws herself into young von Rothbart's arms. He gives the pistol he had taken from the Prince to his father, the two of them laughing. _

**_Act IV_ **

_ In the final act, the Prince, regarded as having lost his mind, is confined to an asylum in a room with a high barred window, and is treated by a doctor and a team of nurses wearing masks that resemble the Queen's face, in a scene reminiscent of his dressing at the beginning of the ballet. The Queen visits but, again, she is still unable to fully express love for her son. _

_ The Prince crawls into bed and appears to sleep. However, he begins writhing as he dreams of the troupe of swans emerging from under and behind, dancing around him. He wakes from his nightmare, checking under his bed and around his room for swans. His tortured expression and jerky movements convey the Prince in turmoil. His lead Swan then slowly emerges from within the Prince's bed. The Swan dances with the Prince and assures him of his continued affection. But, the rest of the swans turn on the lead Swan when he makes it clear that he values his relationship with the Prince more than he does them. They separate the two and begin attacking the Prince before the Swan leaps in to save him. The Swan embraces the Prince and envelops him in his wings. The swans' fury increases and their next attack dismembers the Swan, who then disappears. Heartbroken and despondent, the Prince wails and collapses onto the bed. The Queen then finds her dead son's body and breaks down in sobs. However, in death the Prince and the Swan are reunited, as shown by a tableau depicting the lead Swan tenderly holding the young Prince in his arms.” _

  
  


He gapes at the page when he’s done. “Holy shit.” He looks up at Jon. “Holy shit.” This is heartbreaking in the most fucking beautiful way possible.”

Jon nods eagerly. “The end is fucking something else, man. It’s amazing.”

Brendon nods as he flips through the rest of the program, then stops when he sees a familiar name; one that he had never thought he’d see again.

_ No fucking way, _ Brendon thinks as he looks closer at both the photograph and the biography.

**_Ryan Ross_ **

**_Principal Dancer_ **

_ Ryan Ross was born in Las Vegas, Nevada, and began studying dance at the age of nine with former New Jersey Ballet principal dancer Mikey Way and his brother Gerard Way, along with Joffrey Ballet soloist Ray Toro, at Way of Dance. At the age of eighteen, Ross was the winner of the Grand Prix, the highest medal awarded in Youth America Grand Prix, despite it being his one and only competition he has competed in. _

_ Ross was offered a full scholarship to American Ballet Theatre’s Summer Intensive and later joined American Ballet Theatre as an apprentice that year. He became a member of the Company’s corps de ballet, and later a Soloist within the span of ten months. He was promoted to Principal Dancer a mere year later. _

Then he curses and says it out loud.

“No fucking way.”

“See something, B?” Jon asks, leaning over the armrests.

Brendon blinks down at the program. “Just- this guy- the lead swan-”

Jon peers down too. “Ryan Ross?” He squints at Brendon. “Do you know him?” He leans back, still talking. “You know, he’s actually pretty big in the dance world. Some kind of wunderkind.”

Brendon tunes Jon out, staring down at the half-smiling face of Ryan Ross, his features in shadow.

He’s jolted out of his thoughts by an usher, smiling apologetically. “Sorry, but I’m going to have to escort you two out; we have to clean the theater. I’m sure you understand.”

Brendon jumps up with a quick, “Sorry.”

Jon smiles at the usher. “We were just about to leave. Sorry if we were in the way of anything.”

The usher smiles back, seeming to relax slightly. “You weren’t a problem. Have a nice day!”

Brendon nods back, following Jon somewhat absentmindedly out of the deserted theater, still thinking about Ryan fucking Ross, who’s managed to make his way into Brendon’s life even four years later.

Brendon doesn’t snap out of his thoughts until a few minutes later.

“Watch your step,” Jon cautions.

Brendon looks up and abruptly stops. “Jon, what the fuck?”

They’re in front of a set of stairs that seem to go down into complete darkness.

Jon tugs on Brendon’s arm insistently. “C’mon. It’s safe, I promise. Besides, we have to pay kudos to the guy who got us the tickets.”

Brendon frowns. “You mean you didn’t actually buy those tickets to actually make sure I went somewhere that wasn’t the theater or college?”

Jon looks slightly sheepish. “That was part of it, but I also had nobody else to watch it with.” He nudges Brendon slightly. “But you liked it, right?”

Brendon nods. “It was really good, yeah.” He decides to change the subject, descending the steps. “So who is this guy?”

Jon’s face lights up, and he lets go of Brendon’s arms to gesture with his hands. “His name’s Spencer. We were classmates in high school, but he just left during sophomore year. Turns out, he went to join a ballet company.” He grins. “I found him on Instagram and decided to reach out. We started talking after getting over the disbelief of finding each other again, and when I mentioned that I was currently living in New York, he offered to get me tickets if I would come backstage afterwards.” Jon shrugs. “Seemed like a win-win to me.”

Brendon raises an eyebrow, then pouts over-exaggeratedly. “You didn’t stop to ask if I wanted to come?”

Jon laughs and pokes Brendon. “We both know that you wouldn’t have come out. Besides, I wanted to see if you’d actually never seen this ballet before.”

Brendon shrugs and is about to respond when somebody calls out.

“Jon!”

Jon whips around. “Spence!”

There’s somebody standing in the hallway behind them, a grin splitting his face. The man - who Brendon can only assume is the high school classmate - grins. “Good to see you in person!”

Jon laughs. “I can say the same thing.” He motions at Brendon. “Spencer, this is my friend Brendon. Brendon, the classmate I told you about.”

Brendon sticks his hand out and Spencer takes it, grip firm.

“Nice to meet the workaholic theater guy who Jon’s always praising,” Spencer says with a warm smile.

“Nice to meet the guy Jon didn’t mention until three minutes ago,” Brendon replies with a grin. He raises an eyebrow at Jon. “Curiously, he didn’t tell me about this performance. Didn’t even let me take a damn program.” He shakes his hand and points at Jon. “I’m taking yours as payback for what you did,” he warns.

Jon shrugs. “Sure, I guess. You have it already.”

Brendon tuts. “You have to keep a hold on it, though. God knows I’m not gonna cart it around.”

Jon’s face fills with glee. “I don’t have pockets.”

Brendon’s eyes narrow. “Fine.”

Spencer laughs. “You know we have, like, three more boxes of those?”

Jon looks somewhat impressed. “Really?”

Spencer nods but doesn’t elaborate. “Do you two wanna come down?” he asks.

Brendon and Jon readily agree. The three of them start moving down the hallway, turning left and right while Spencer nods at other dancers all the way. Brendon doesn’t think he’ll be able to find his way out.

Spencer stops in front of a closed door and knocks twice on it. “This is my dressing room,” he explains. “I want you guys to meet someone, and I get to put on actual shoes while we do it.” He lifts a foot, which is still in a plain canvas shoe. “That okay with you guys?”

Brendon nods as a “Come in!” floats out from inside the room.

Spencer grins and opens the door with a flourish. “After you.”

The dressing room is a bit small, equipped with mirrors and a small counter, along with two chairs.

Somebody is occupying one of the chairs, sitting with crossed legs and his nose stuck in a book, but before Brendon can study him further, Spencer announces, “Welcome to our dressing room! Ry, we have guests.”

He pokes the other person, making him look up, and Brendon’s eyes get caught on the headpiece draped over his forehead before they move down to his face, and-

Oh, balls.

Brendon tries not to freak out.

“This is our resident hotshot, Ryan Ross,” Spencer proclaims.

Ryan’s eyes are ringed with eyeliner, and when his gaze meets Brendon’s, Brendon is immediately transported back to a time of stolen glances and tentative gifts as an image of a Ryan from years ago springs to the front of Brendon’s mind unbidden.

It had been the first dress rehearsal they had done for YAGP, and while Ryan had complained about the quality (or lack thereof) of his pants, Brendon had known that he’d rather liked the accessories that had come with the costume.

The headpiece, to be exact.

It hadn’t been extravagant, but it had been elegant, and Brendon had seen Ryan preen over it, handle it carefully.

When an hour had passed, after the teachers had gone to teach other classes, Brendon had sauntered over to Ryan.

“Nice outfit, Ross.” He’d eyed Ryan in a suggestive way, watching as Ryan’s cheeks flushed, but then he’d frowned and moved closer to Ryan. “Your headpiece is crooked,” he’d said. “C’mere.”

Ryan had obliged, and Brendon had carefully straightened the headpiece, then let his hand drift down to curve around the back of Ryan’s head as he looked over it critically.

When he’d deemed it acceptable and looked at Ryan again, he’d had to catch his breath for a moment. Ryan had been staring at him, something in his expression so damn  _ open _ that it made Brendon’s chest twist.

Brendon jolts back to the present abruptly, surprised by the wave of nostalgia and longing that rolls through him. Ryan has fixed his gaze on his book again, and Brendon’s not sure if the tension in his shoulders had been there before.

“-ndon? Are you alright?” Jon’s asking.

Brendon shoots a hasty smile at him and Spencer, who’s looking slightly concerned. “Yeah! Yep, I’m fine, sorry, just zoned out a bit.”

Jon looks a bit skeptical but lets it pass. “Spencer was going to take me to meet other company members. You wanna come?”

Brendon shakes his head. “Can I stay here? My feet are kinda tired.”

Spencer shrugs. “Sure. You okay with that, Ry?”

Ryan nods, still not looking up as Brendon sits down in the other chair.

“Alright, then.” Spencer clasps his hands together. “Jon and I are off, then. Bye, Ry.”

With that, Brendon is alone in the room with Ryan Ross, also known as the one and only man who has ever broken Brendon’s heart. That thought alone is enough to spike Brendon’s heart into overdrive. His leg starts bouncing, and once it starts, he can’t stop.

Ryan puts his book down and glances at Brendon’s leg, and Brendon thinks he sees a trace of wistfulness on Ryan’s face, but no - Ryan had dumped him, wasn’t actually interested in him. He’d made that clear years ago.

“Small world, huh?” Ryan finally asks when the silence begins to be a bit overwhelming, putting his book down and carefully sticking in a bookmark.

“Yeah.” Brendon huffs out a laugh. “Really fuckin’ is.”

Ryan hums in response.  _ How the fuck is he so calm? _ Brendon thinks, knee still bouncing. 

Ryan asks, hesitantly, “Why-” at the same time Brendon starts, “Where-”

“You start,” Ryan mutters, looking at the ground.

“No, you can start,” Brendon says firmly. The least he deserved was an explanation as to why Ryan had blown him off. A voice in his head asks,  _ what more do you want? _ but Brendon resolutely ignores it.

Ryan shifts his feet on the ground. “Why did you stop responding to my texts?” He asks in a small voice.

Brendon shrugs, surrounded by an air of confidence he doesn’t feel. “Thought it would make the breakup easier.”

Ryan looks startled. “Breakup?” He repeats slowly.

Brendon frowns, knee stopping its bouncing. “Yes. The breakup, which essentially happened when you never came back.”

Ryan frowns as well. “Never came back? What-” He breaks off then, seeming to realize what Brendon’s talking about mid-sentence, eyes widening and mouth forming an O shape.

_ He doesn’t even remember, _ Brendon thinks grimly.  _ Guess that shows how much he’d really cared. _

He remains silent, knowing that Ryan would talk sooner if he kept his mouth shut.

“I sort of… completely forgot about that,” Ryan admits in a soft voice. He looks at Brendon. “I just… had so many things running through my head that it completely slipped. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well,” Brendon says, a wry smile on his face. “Had to beg my parents to give me a ride.” He sighs. “They treated me like a fucking stranger, which made it worse.”

He doesn’t expect Ryan to say anything, much less grab Brendon’s hands and look up at him with those doe eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Ryan repeats. “I really fucked up, didn’t I?” Ryan keeps talking without a response from Brendon, keeping eye contact. He takes a breath before saying, “Let me make it up to you.”

Brendon blinks. “What?”

“Let me make it up to you,” Ryan says again.

For a second, Brendon thinks that Ryan’s asking him out, but then remembers how Ryan and Spencer had moved together onstage, their easy way of being together.  _ Definitely not a date, then, _ he thinks, pushing down the disappointment.

“Okay,” he finally says.

Ryan’s face lights up, and he beams.  _ He just wants to make sure I don’t hate him after all of this, _ Brendon thinks, but he manages a shaky smile in return.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! feel free to leave comments and/or kudos, they really make my day and motivate me :)
> 
> stay safe out in the world, lovelies!


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